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THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS 
AT SCHOOL 


* 




George delivers the torpedo ammunition to his army. 



























THE LITTLE 
WASHINGTONS 
AT SCHOOL 


BY 

S. WAUKLEY ROY 



gorfe 

THE NOURSE COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 








Copyright, 1920 , by 
THE NOURSE COMPANY 





FEB 18 1921 

§)CL A611207 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. How They Came to Go . i 

II. The Unexpected Raid on the Pantry 17 

III. The Raid by the Enemy .... 33 

IV. The Gypsies and the Real Thieves . 48 

V. How General George Defied the 

Enemy.63 

VI. Who Took the Lunch-Boxes? ... 81 

VII. First Days at School.94 

VIII. Washington’s Experiences a la George 109 

IX. Another Chapter from Washington’s 


Life.131 

X. The Rescue.144 

























THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS 
AT SCHOOL 




THE 

LITTLE WASHINGTONS 
AT SCHOOL 


CHAPTER ONE 

HOW THEY CAME TO GO 

“See here, Martha, John says there’s 
a new school about a mile down the 
road, and I want to see what it’s like,” 
whispered George Parke to his sister 
one day soon after their return from the 
North, which you doubtless read all 
about in the third book of the “Little 
Washington Series.” 

“Do you mean you’d like to go there 
for a few days?” asked Martha, with a 
surprised look, for George had never 
before signified any desire to apply him¬ 
self to lessons. 

“Oh, no, not exactly attend it, but to 
go there after the classes are in and peep 
in at the windows and see if it is the 


2 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


sort of a place where we might have a 
lot of fun this winter,” explained 
George frankly. 

“Then mother won’t permit us to go; 
I can tell you that right now!” declared 
Martha. 

“I didn’t suppose she would feel 
pleased with my plan, but we are not 
on parole now, you know. We can go 
anywhere we like until the next punish¬ 
ment limits our play-grounds,” returned 
her brother. 

Martha looked dubious at this last 
suggestion but George gave her little 
time to raise any objections. He quick¬ 
ly added: 

“John’s going with me, anyhow, and 
maybe I’ll take Jim along—just because 
he will tell his mammy if we leave him 
home, and you know Mammy Jane will 
run straight to mother with the tale. 
Then all my fine plans will be spoilt.” 

“We—ell, if John and Jim go with 
you, I might as well go too. But I’ll 
say right now—I won’t play any Wash¬ 
ington War Movies on the school or any 
children in it! So there!” exclaimed 
Martha, emphatically. 


HOW THEY CAME TO GO 3 

“Why, of all things! Who ever 
thought of having fun with the old 
school? If we act George Washing¬ 
ton’s Life Story I’ll see that we do it in a 
select circle—not to the public,” said 
George, mightily indignant at his sis¬ 
ter’s implied threat. 

“Humph! You didn’t stop to remem¬ 
ber your select Circle when we were at 
the Hotel in New York! But that roof- 
garden battle was awfully funny, wasn’t 
it, Georgie?” and Martha giggled at the 
remembrance of that great war-scene 
between the British and Yanks, as the 
children played it to the consternation 
of the hotel guests. 

“Um-m! Guess it was! And the 
fight in Philadelphia—can you remem¬ 
ber mother’s face when she saw us all 
covered with mud? Ha, ha, ha!” 
George laughed uproariously and his 
sister joined in. 

The echo of the laughter reached 
John who was teaching Jim how to 
build a suspension bridge over the 
creek, but all idea of engineering sud¬ 
denly vanished when the two boys heard 
their playmates and thought they were 



4 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

having some sport in which they had 
no part. 

“Let’s run and see what George is 
doing?” cried John, and off he started 
for the summer-house on the Parke’s 
back-lawn. 

Jim’s little bow legs went after John 
as fast as the owner could make them 
travel, and soon both boys were in sight 
of the arbor where they could see 
George and Martha rocking back and 
forth while laughing. 

“What is it—what’s up now?” called 
John, as soon as he could be heard. 

George looked around and stopped 
laughing. What did John and Jim 
mean? 

But Martha took advantage of the 
new-comers’ appearance to say: “Are 
you two going with George and me to 
the schoolhouse?” 

“Oh, is that what you’re laughing 
over? Some new game?” asked John 
eagerly. 

“Of course not! We were only re¬ 
membering all the great Revolutionary 
Battles we fought when we were in New 



HOW THEY CAME TO GO 5 

York and Philadelphia,” retorted 
George. 

“Oh,” murmured John, deeply dis¬ 
appointed to find there was no new mis¬ 
chief on the board. 

“Oh,” echoed Jim, his mouth going 
down at the corners. 

“But that doesn’t say we cant plan 
some fun,” hinted Martha. 

“Why, Marth! You just said you 
wouldn’t listen to any fighting with the 
school,” gasped George. 

“And I still mean it, but we can play 
a game some other way, can’t we? 
We’ll have to think it all out.” 

“When do you want to visit there.?” 
asked John. 

“Tomorrow or next day. It’d better 
be tomorrow, John, while our good-be¬ 
havior freedom is wide-open,” replied 
practical George. 

“Then we’d better get our George 
Washington Book and hunt up some 
fun,” suggested Martha. 

“Come on, then,” added George, 
jumping up and starting for the house, 
followed by his three faithful compan¬ 
ions. 


6 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


In the play-room of the large colonial 
home where the Parke children lived, 
the four conspirators found their pic¬ 
tured “Life of Washington” and hasten¬ 
ing with it to the summer-house were 
soon carefully perusing the many thrill¬ 
ing incidents—seeking for a subject that 
could be nicely turned into one of their 
play-games. 

“I don’t suppose we can dress up in 
any Washington way,” ventured Mar¬ 
tha, who had never satisfied her long¬ 
ing to wear a curly wig and long sweep¬ 
ing trains to her dress. 

“Not if we have to walk a mile to the 
schoolhouse,” returned George. 

“My mother said she thought seri¬ 
ously of sending me there this winter. 
She thinks I’ll learn more than by study¬ 
ing with you two under a tutor,” said 
John. 

This was a great surprise. Where 
would be the fun in studying at all if 
John were not with them to add his 
ideas to their suggestions for play? 
Martha and George sat and stared at 
their playmate for fully a minute in 
silence. 


HOW THEY CAME TO GO 7 

“I don’t see why you two can’t go to 
school, too, ’cause Daddy says children 
acquire knowledge better where there 
are a number to compete with. He 
thinks it will do me good,” added John. 

“Ah don’ see whar Jim’s cornin’ in 
on dis school-game,” sighed the little 
pickaninny. 

“Oh, you’ll have to go too, if we go, 
Jim. There isn’t anything to keep you 
away, you know,” said George conso¬ 
lingly. 

Jim brightened up like a new penny 
and said, “Den le’s go tomorrer an’ see 
de teacher ’bout beginnin’ to oncet.” 

The three little white playmates ex¬ 
changed glances for it was plainly seen 
that Jim thought the planned visit to the 
schoolhouse on the morrow was for the 
purpose of applying for tuition. 

“If we went to that school this winter, 
we could have a grand time playing 
‘Crossing the Delaware’ when the 
stream freezes over,” suggested Martha, 
longingly. 

“Oh, yes! I forgot the Creek crosses 
the road down by Farnley’s Farm!” ex¬ 
claimed George. 


8 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


“Why don’t you coax your father to 
let you go to that teacher and begin 
when I do?” said John. 

“When will you start lessons?” asked 
Martha. 

“Next Monday. The classes began 
school yesterday, but the teacher said 
there wouldn’t be much real work done 
the first week, so I am not losing any 
lesson.” 

“Well, that gives us a few days. Now 
we’ll go over there tomorrow and look 
things over. If we like the teacher and 
scholars, there won’t be much trouble in 
coaxing mother and father to let us try 
it. Besides, Old Ephheim won’t be our 
tutor this year, you know, as he went 
back to Germany just before the armis¬ 
tice was signed,” said George. 

John looked his amazement at this 
news, and Martha added, “Yes, we never 
knew he was a born German until he 
got a letter ordering him to join his old 
regiment. Then he told father that he 
had never taken out his naturalnation 
papers.” 

“Ha, ha! That isn’t what it’s called, 


HOW THEY CAME TO GO 9 

Marth! It’s spelled ‘n-a-t-u-r-a-1 s-a- 
t-i-o-n papers,’ ” corrected George. 

But the other children never knew 
that George also spelled the word 
wrong. 

“What time shall we start tomor¬ 
row?” asked John. 

“Right after we finish our rooms,” re¬ 
plied George, for Martha and he had to 
straighten out their own rooms each 
morning after breakfast. 

“If we go to school down the road, 
maybe we won’t have to do that horrid 
work every day,” suggested Martha, 
hopefully. 

“Why not?” wondered George, al¬ 
though he, too, would be only too glad 
for an excuse to shirk the tasks. 

“Because it will take us half-an-hour 
to walk there each day, and we never 
have breakfast until eight, you see. 
School opens about nine, I s’pose, like 
all other public schools,” returned 
Martha. 

“That’s so! Won’t that be grand?” 
exclaimed George. 

“Mebbe yoh Marm’ll git my mam¬ 
my to cook brek-fus by seben ebery 


IO WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


mornin’ ’stead of eight,” ventured Jim 
thoughtfully. 

“Oh, you kill-joy!” cried Martha, 
glaring at the pickaninny. 

“That don’t worry me,” added 
George, “because Daddy doesn’t start 
for the City ’til eight-thirty, so we won’t 
have breakfast earlier than he wants it.” 

“Say, all you! Stop figuring on 
breakfast hours and get down to work 
about tomorrow,” now declared John. 
“What time shall I meet you at the cor¬ 
ner post?” The “corner post” was the 
great post that divided the boundary 
lines of the two estates. 

“I reckon we ought to leave about 
nine-thirty. That gives Marth and me 
time to do our work and get away com¬ 
fortably,” said George. 

Martha giggled: “You mean ‘get 
away without mother seeing us,’ don’t 
you?” 

At this moment the gardener was 
seen hovering about the summer-house, 
so George immediately called out: 
“We’re not plotting any new trouble, 
Mose!” 

Mose showed his white teeth in a 


HOW THEY CAME TO GO u 


broad grin as he replied, “Ah ain’t so 
shore ob dat statement, Mas’er Garge!” 

“Well, this time, we’re planning 
about school. You see John, here, is 
going down to the Country School and 
we want to go there, too,” hurriedly ex¬ 
plained Martha. 

“De Lawd grant dat yoh-all do go,” 
sighed Mose, earnestly. 

“Jim, too!” added George. 

“De hull tribe of you’se a thorn in mah 
flesh,” chuckled Mose, casting an 
anxious eye over the group sitting in 
the arbor and then glancing about to 
note if he could see any doubtful ar¬ 
rangements for an immediate cataclysm 
such as generally befell when the four 
playmates were so quiet. 

Finding that everything seemed un¬ 
usually peaceful, Mose turned and left 
the four. The moment he was safely 
out of hearing, George said: “I just had 
another thought: s’pose we take our 
luncheon like I see other school-chil¬ 
dren who pass the house. They all 
have dinner-boxes or pails.” 

“That’s a great idea! How will we 
get the stuff to eat?” said John. 


i2 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


“Jim can always help himself from 
the big ice-box down in the kitchen 
pantry, and Marth and I can get the 
cake or fruit,” replied George. 

“What yoh want me foh to git?” 
asked Jim, taking it for granted that he 
was provider for all from Mammy’s 
domain. 

“Well, cold chicken and fresh bread 
always tastes good at a picnic,” sug¬ 
gested Martha. “And there might be 
cold yams browned in sugar—I like 
them cold.” 

“Oh, yes! And get some of Mammy’s 
fresh quince preserve, Jim. She gave 
mother a dish to taste yesterday and we 
got a teeny smitch of it. Um-m! But 
it’s good!” added George. 

“Ah’ll git does an’ den addition what- 
eber else what is good en Ah kin git 
outen de cupboard widdout Mammy 
ketchin’ me,” promised Jim, eagerly 
thinking of the fine picnic he was to 
go to. 

“Now that’s all settled we ought to 
agree about some fun to play about 
Washington on our walk down the 
road,” said John. 


HOW THEY CAME TO GO 13 

“We said we wouldn’t play games 
on the school-children tomorrow, you 
know, because the teacher might not let 
us come in the class at all,” warned 
George. 

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have 
fun on the way there,” retorted John. 

“Let’s Iqok over the book and see 
what we can do,” added Martha has¬ 
tily, to ward off an argument between 
the two boys. 

“Now, here’s a good short experience 
Washington had that will keep us busy 
from the house to the school,” said John, 
as he pointed to a page in the book. 
George read aloud as follows: 

“ ‘To Mrs. Martha Custis, 

“July 20, 1758. 

“We have begun our march for the 
Ohio. A courier is starting for Wil¬ 
liamsburg, and I embrace the opportu¬ 
nity to send a few words to one whose 
life is now inseparable from mine. . . . 
That an all-powerful Providence may 
keep us both in safety is the prayer of 
your ever faithful and affectionate 
friend,’ ” 


14 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“You skipped the middle part of the 
letter,” instantly Martha reminded her 
brother. 

“Well, it was only softy stuff, you 
know—it has nothing to do with fight¬ 
ing,” said George. 

“But it isn’t a fight, at all. He only 
talks of love and prayers,” argued John. 

“Oh, but the fighting comes in after 
he starts, you see. This letter is a sort 
of an introduction to his fun,” ex¬ 
plained George, turning over a few 
pages, and beginning to read: 

“ ‘Washington left-’ ” 

Martha here interrupted her brother 
by saying impatiently: “We played all 
that early history stuff last Spring. We 
don’t want to repeat history—there’s no 
fun in it. Besides, Lady Washington 
hasn’t a thing to act in that Ohio war.” 

“Martha’s right about playing an old 
battle over again,” added John. “We 
can just as well find something fresh 
and fine.” 

“Well, here then. Pick out a war for 
yourself,” replied George, angrily 
thrusting the book at Martha and John. 

The two failed to take offence at 



HOW THEY CAME TO GO 15 

George’s manner, but immediately be¬ 
gan to pore over the pages until a suit¬ 
able selection was found, then John 
read: 

“ ‘The enemy crossed the Schuylkill 
by stratagem’—that means the Creek 
half-way to the school,” explained John, 
looking up, “ ‘and their manoeuvres 
made it necessary for us to attend to our 
stores’—by that I mean our lunch, see?” 

“Well, all right—go on,” demanded 
George. 

“ ‘The loss of which would have been 
our ruin. So we attempted a night’s 
march of fourteen miles to surprise 
them, which we did by reaching their 
guards before they had notice of our 
coming.’ See how that fits our case—the 
school children haven’t any idea of our 
visit, so we surprise them while they are 
at lessons and hide our lunches before 
they get out at recess to fight us for it.” 

“Then what happens to us or to the 
lunches?” asked practical George. 

“It says in this account: ‘After we 
had driven the enemy a mile or two, 
they were in the utmost confusion, and 
we were upon the point of grasping a 


16 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


victory, when for some unknown cause, 
our own troops took flight and ran 
away in great disorder. This was pos¬ 
sibly the result of a lack of ammunition 
on the right wing. After this, we re¬ 
moved to a place many miles up the 
road to reinforce our division.’ I see it 
all just as plain! Can’t you?” con¬ 
cluded John. 

“Yes, but I don’t see myself running 
away from the enemy if I have the 
luncheon safe with me,” countered 
George. 

“Let’s leave the victory or the defeat 
of the surprise until tomorrow. Let’s 
first get away and reach the school- 
house,” advised sensible Martha. 

“Da’ss what Ah says, too!” added 
Jim. 

So the four Colonial Fighters parted, 
agreeing to meet at nine-thirty the next 
day, at the Corner Post. 


CHAPTER TWO 


THE UNEXPECTED RAID ON THE PANTRY 

Early in the morning, while Jinny, 
the waitress, was giving the finishing 
touches to the breakfast table, Martha 
crept into the upstairs pantry to hunt 
up whatever her willing hands could 
take for the lunches. She had already 
secured the glass jar of quince preserves 
Mammy had given mother a taste of the 
day previous, and had her arm half¬ 
way down in the stone jar that contained 
cookies, when Mammy herself bustled 
in. 

Martha was speechless with horror, 
for Mammy seldom came upstairs to at¬ 
tend to anything. Now she was breath¬ 
less from the climb up the narrow back 
stairs, and angry to boot. 

“Whaf-foh yoh outen bed dis early?” 
demanded Mammy. 

“It’s almost eight o’clock,” replied 

17 


18 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


Martha, disengaging her hand from the 
clutch on the gingersnaps in the jar. 

“Udder days we-all hab a jib gittin’ 
Garge an’ yoh outen bed atall! Now 
whaf-foh yoh in dis pantry?” 

Mammy stood with shoulders braced 
back and her large fat arms akimbo as 
her hands rested upon her ample hips. 
Her eyes narrowed down with sus¬ 
picion as Martha backed up against the 
table that held the quince preserves— 
that toothsome dessert for the picnic. 

“I was just going to help myself to 
the cookies when you came in,” replied 
Martha, quite honestly. “But what are 
you doing up here in Jinny’s place 
when you ought to be sending up our 
breakfast? It is eight o’clock—I hear 
the clock striking.” 

“Dass jus’ hit! I’m lookin’ affer dat 
brekfus, all right! Now what Ah wants 
to know, am dis! Whar did yoh-all tell 
Jim to hide hisself away so early?” de¬ 
manded Mammy. 

“We didn’t tell Jim nothing! We 
haven’t seen Jim since yesterday after¬ 
noon!” retorted Martha, delighted that 
she could tell the whole truth. 


RAID ON PANTRY 


i9 


Jinny came into the pantry at this mo¬ 
ment, and seemed surprised to find both 
Martha and Mammy there. Not that it 
was an unusual matter to find either 
George or Martha in the pantry the mo¬ 
ment she had turned her back, but to 
find Mammy there when she should 
have been in the kitchen portended some 
dire disaster. 

“Jinny, did yoh-all see mah pan of 
raised biskits dis mawnin’?” asked 
Mammy, the moment the yellow-faced 
girl came in. 

“Yoh biskits! Whaf-foh Ah want-ta 
see yoh raised biskits?” replied Jinny, 
loftily. 

“Ah diden b’lieve yoh did, but Ah 
was jus’ askin’ kase Ah smell foul play 
in dis house so early dis mawnin’! Now 
see heah, gal! Howcome Marfa down 
heah befoh brekfus—tell me dat!” 

“Marfa, ho’come yoh heah so early?” 
demanded Jinny. 

“Well, you see, it is this way,” coun¬ 
tered Martha, for she heard George 
coming softly across the dining-room 
floor. “I am hungry and the breakfast 
isn’t ready, so I came out to get a hand- 


20 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


ful of cookies. Then Mammy crept up 
and scolded me.” 

“Dat ain’t all, Jinny! Ah baked mah 
raised biskits foh brekfus, just lak Ah 
alius does, an’ de pan bein’ red-hot, Ah 
sits hit on a table nearby de area-doah 
fer to cool. Ah turns to see dat de hom¬ 
iny ain’t scorchin’ an’ den Ah fin’s mah 
coffee-pot a-bilin’ oveh, so Ah has to 
tend to all dat. Den Ah turns to git 
mah pan of biskits, an lo! de debbil is 
done run off wid hit!” 

Mammy rolled her eyes solemnly at 
the last statement for she was very re¬ 
ligious, believing literallyin a devil made 
up with horns and hoofs instead of look¬ 
ing for him in an evil heart and mind. 

“No! Yohdon’say! Mebbe a tramp 
got it!” gasped Jinny, delighted that 
she could at last discover Mammy in a 
short-coming. 

“Tramp noffin’! Ah kin bet mah 
boots dat Jarge er John wanted somefin’ 
today fer some goin’s on!” snorted 
Mammy. . 

“Well, if it was George or John what 
would they steal Jim for? You told 


RAID ON PANTRY 21 

me Jim was gone, too,” declared 
Martha. 

“Jim gone!” again gasped Jinny, 
thrilling deliciously. “Now Ah’m 
shore a tramp er gipsy come in an’ 
stealed dem biskits, den picked Jim op 
on de way out and carryed him off to 
be a body-servant in camp.” 

Mammy frowned fearfully at the girl 
who dared suggest such a terrible future 
for Jim, but the table-bell tinkled just 
then and Jinny had to run in to see what 
was wanted at the table. 

“Now yoh’ll swear dat yoh hain’t seed 
noffin’ of mah raised biskits?” threat¬ 
ened Mammy, standing over Martha 
with one mighty arm upraised—wheth¬ 
er for the oath or for a blow Martha 
could not say. But she quickly chose 
what to do. 

“ ’Course I kin swear. I don’t want 
your old biscuits for breakfast, anyway. 
I didn’t know you baked any and I 
never dreamed you lost them! I reckon 
Jinny knows—it was a tramp.” 

Jinny rushed out with an order. 
“Mas’sr Parke say he am late dis mawn- 


22 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


in’, so hurry his hot bread upstairs, 
Mammy.” 

Mammy scoffed: “Hot bread, ’deed! 
Did yoh-all tell him de place ’fested wid 
tramps? All de hot bread ennyone gits 
fer brekfus dis mawnin’ is toast made 
of stale bread!” 

And Mammy marched downstairs 
more ponderously than she came up. 
Shortly thereafter, Jinny heard the 
dumb-waiter whistle shrill and she 
opened the door. Up shot the waiter 
with a plate of nicely browned toast 
that looked quite soft and fresh, despite 
Mammy’s predictions. 

Martha had managed to secure all the 
cookies she wanted the moment Jinny 
ran into the dining-room, so taking the 
quince preserves and cookies, she ran 
out of the pantry by the door that led to 
the entry which was used by delivery 
men. Out on the side porch, she found 
George waiting. He had several empty 
shoe boxes that he had found in the at¬ 
tic. 

“Hist! Don’t hang around here, 
Marth! Run right on to the summer¬ 
house with the lunch.” 


RAID ON PANTRY 


23 


George himself ran 011 in advance, 
and Martha soon reached the arbor, 
quite out of breath. She plumped the 
glass jar of preserves down upon the 
bench and then emptied her skirt of the 
cookies. 

“My, this is a nice haul. I wonder 
what Jim got?” said George, beginning 
to pack the cookies in one of the boxes. 

“Oh, that reminds me! Mammy is 
awful mad!” laughed Martha, then pro¬ 
ceeded to tell George about the pantry 
interview. 

“Jim, eh?” hinted George, grinning. 

“Sure! But where did he run when 
he got the pan?” wondered Martha. 

“Right heah—unner de floh ob de 
summeh-house. Did yoh all tink Ah 
was goin’ to chanst gittin’ caught wid 
dem biskits?” squeaked a little voice 
from under the floor. 

George and Martha then rushed over 
to the “Secret Trap Door” they had cut 
under a seat one day when it was neces¬ 
sary to help Jim get out from under the 
same floor. The “Secret Door” as all 
four of the children named it, happened 
to be where two wide boards ran short 


24 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

and had been joined by extra lengths of 
lumber. These joints were separated 
again and the two short lengths so fixed 
that they could be readily taken up or 
put down again. 

When the “Secret Door” was finished 
so not even Mose could see the boards 
had been tampered with, the four chil¬ 
dren tunneled a secret passage under 
the entire summer-house, carrying away 
the soft earth thus dug out. The debris 
was dumped in a hollow in the kitchen 
garden, and the fact had never been dis¬ 
covered. Where the tunnel opened out 
under the honey-suckle vine a large 
square of grassy sod was kept patted 
down to hide the spot. Thus, whenever 
it was necessary to hide anything 
brought from the house for some occa¬ 
sion—like the present case—the tunnel 
or trap-door was used. Jim always used 
the tunnel as it was safer for him to 
squirm in under the vines than be found 
in the summer-house by Mose. 

Now the two accomplices in crime 
assisted Jim up out of the Secret Door 
and Jim carefully carried the pan of 
raised biscuits with him. Martha 


RAID ON PANTRY 


25 

'grinned as she wondered what would 
come upon them should they be found 
guilty of using the biscuits for luncheon 
that day, instead of having them for 
breakfast as Mammy had intended. 

“Dat ain’t all, neider! Ah’se ben 
wukkin all de time mah Mammy’s ben 
gittin’ brekfus. Ah got out to de ice¬ 
box an’ foun’ a hull briled chicken 
what’s foh lunch upstahs, Ah rekon. 

“So I wrapt him in a newspaper an’ 
fetched him out fust. Ah lef’ him un- 
ner de steps of the back stoop while Ah 
went back to hunt fer moah stuff. 

“Ah foun’ a bottle of sweet pickles 
an’ a lot of sausages, so Ah tuk dem 
too. Yoh-all will fin’ dem in dat paper. 
But when Ah smelt dem biskits, Ah jus’ 
coulden hep bringin’ ’em fer yoh-all. 

“But, lemme tell yoh! It was some 
wok gittin’ all dat stuff ober heah wid- 
dout habin’ dat Mose see me cartin’ 
hit!” 

Jim told his story with a pair of eyes 
constantly rolling back and forth, while 
his tones rose and fell like a camp meet¬ 
ing song. At regular intervals he syn¬ 
copated his tale, making his act and 


26 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


escape sound quite thrilling to his two 
admirers. 

“Well, get the paper bundle out, Jim, 
and I will wrap everything up carefully 
in a box,” said George, removing a lid 
from an empty box while Jim obediently 
crawled back into the Secret Tunnel 
and brought up the chicken and pickles. 

“That’s a good boy! Now Til pack 
everything up,” said George, in a voice 
that was meant to convey the impression 
that he was about to labor manfully for 
the others in packing the lunch. 

Martha, without saying a word, had 
meantime packed the raised biscuits in 
a box and was now tying down the lid 
with a bit of string she found dangling 
from a dried Morning-Glory trellis. 

“That makes two boxes all ready— 
one with cookies and one with biscuits,” 
said Martha, placing the boxes next to 
the quince preserve. 

“We’d better not leave them here 
while we eat breakfast ’cause Mose is 
sure to find them,” said George. 

“That’s so! We’d better carry them 
over to the Corner Post and hide them 
under the hedge,” suggested Martha. 


RAID ON PANTRY 


2 7 

“M-a-r-tha!! G-ee-o-rr-ge!!” sound¬ 
ed someone’s voice from the back 
piazza. 

“A-l- 1 —rrr-ighttt-!!” shouted both 
children, making a megaphone of their 
hands. 

“Co-ome in-to Brr-eak-fas-st!” sound¬ 
ed again. 

“Al-1—Rrr-ighttt!!” again replied 
Martha and George. 

“Say, Jim, can’t you carry these over 
there?” asked George. 

“Why, it will take him an hour to 
do it all, and Mose is sure to spy him 
before he’s through! I say we hurry 
and help him get the things over before 
we go in to breakfast,” advised Martha. 

“It’s most nine o’clock, I reckon,” 
objected George. “And we wanted to 
start by half-past.” 

“Ah’ll carry dem ober fer yoh-all. 
Ah don’ want no brekfus’ no-how, kase 
mah Mammy’ll put me in bed an’ Ah 
cain’t go wid yoh-all,” explained Jim. 

“Well, you can eat all the breakfast 
you want the very minute we get out 
of sight, Jim. But we ain’t going to let 
you get caught with all these goods and 


28 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


then we won’t be able to get away at all 
—nine-thirty or no time!” declared 
Martha, picking up the box of cookies 
and jar of preserves. 

Without another word, George 
picked up the box of pickles and 
chicken, and Jim brought up the rear 
cartying the box of biscuits. They 
dodged back and forth, from bush to 
shrub, until they were safely on the 
other side of the wide lawn where the 
trees offered a screen from any eyes 
peering from the house. 

When the lunch boxes were safely 
hidden back under the privet hedge, Jim 
sauntered over to John’s house to meet 
him, and incidentally say good-morning 
to his daddy, should he happen to meet 
him. But George and Martha raced 
back to the house to get in to breakfast 
before the time when the door closed. 
It had been made a cast-iron rule by 
father and mother, that any tardy mem¬ 
ber of the family should be debarred 
from entrance to the dining-room once 
mother was ready to leave the table. 

There were not many seconds to 
spare when George and Martha ran in 


RAID ON PANTRY 


29 

quite breathless. In fact, mother must 
have been dallying somewhat with her 
morning’s mail, as her coffee was so 
cold that she had Jinny bring in a fresh 
cup when the two delinquents came in. 

“What kept you both so late, chil¬ 
dren?” asked Mrs. Parke. 

“Didn’t you hear about Mammy and 
Jim?” asked Martha in feigned sur¬ 
prise. 

Mother looked keenly at her daugh¬ 
ter. She could always tell when Mar¬ 
tha was in earnest. Now she replied: 
“What has your running about in the 
garden got to do with the missing bis¬ 
cuits?” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean the raised biscuits, 
Mother; I mean that Mammy told me 
her Jim was missing and she couldn’t 
find him.” 

“Oh, indeed! Jinny told me the bis¬ 
cuits were missing and that you were in 
the pantry before breakfast was ready. 
I thought that perhaps, Jim and the bis¬ 
cuits, coupled with your unusual visit 
to the pantry, might have been inten¬ 
tional.” 

Martha watched her mother’s face 


30 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL’ 

closely, but there was not a hint of a 
smile so she wondered how much of the 
truth mother knew. Wasn’t it uncanny 
how mothers always knew everything 
—even the most secret plans that no one 
could have whispered about! 

“And then there was George! I never 
knew him to be up before breakfast in 
the attic clearing up his scattered toys 
so industriously as he was this morn¬ 
ing,” added mother, turning to look at 
her son. 

“Ye-es,” sighed George, as if tired 
from the exertion, “I had to find a box I 
wanted this morning, and I had to 
hunt.” 

“Did you find one? I know where 
there are several.” 

“Oh, yes, thank you, mother,—I got 
one at last,” said George, feeling rather 
small when his mother was so generous. 

“W(hat did you propose to do this 
morning, children?” 

“We thought of playing with John. 
He is going to go to the Country School 
down the road, you know, beginning 
next week,” said George. 

“Yes, and your father thinks it will 


RAID ON PANTRY 


3 1 

be best for both of you to go, too. What 
do you think of the plan?” asked 
mother. 

George and Martha exchanged looks. 
Here was exactly what they wanted, but 
coming from father it was not as allur¬ 
ing as if they had to try hard to win his 
approval of the idea. 

Mother saw and understood at once, 
but the children did not see that she 
comprehended the situation. She now 
added: “It was father’s plan, but now 
that we are speaking of it, I do not think 
I will approve of it. I have an entirely 
different idea for your schooling this 
winter. I shall see how it works out.” 

“Did you tell father about yours?” 
asked George, feeling disappointed to 
find his mother had a different plan 
from theirs. 

“No, not yet. I want to investigate 
first, then if I am right in my ideas, I 
shall have mine followed out instead of 
father’s. But one thing you can be 
told now—my plan will be to have you 
leave home for your schooling this 
year.” 


32 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“Leave home?” gasped both George 
and Martha, fearfully. 

“Yes, as I feel sure you will both be 
benefited by the association with other 
children of your own age. I will see 
that the children are all good and agree¬ 
able and not easily led into mischief.” 

Mother smiled at the last words, and 
her audience felt reproved. But the 
shock of leaving home to go to school 
somewhere outweighed everything else 
for the time being. 

The moment breakfast was done, 
mother left the two disconcerted chil¬ 
dren and went up to attend the baby’s 
bath, and George and Martha hurried 
away to join their accomplices at the 
Corner Post. 


CHAPTER THREE 


THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 

“Heah dey come!” cried the voice of 
a little pickaninny hiding behind the 
Corner Post, when George and Martha 
were seen hurrying along the road. 

“Most time, too!” grumbled John, 
who had been waiting about for more 
than half an hour. 

“Couldn’t help it, John. We’ve got 
awful news!” called George, the mo¬ 
ment he was in hearing of John’s com¬ 
plaint. 

“What’s the matter—can’t you get 
away this morning?” 

“Oh, yes, this is nothing! But think 
of it! Marth and I are going to be 

SENT AWAY TO SCHOOL!” 

George’s voice expressed the awful 
calamity in his news. Martha looked 
quite woe-begone for her. 

“Gee! You don’t mean it!” finally 
John managed to say. 

33 


34 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“All our fun we planned for Wash¬ 
ington crossing the Delaware on the 
Ice, now gone to nothing!” sighed 
George. 

“When you going?” asked John. 

“We don’t know. Mother isn’t say¬ 
ing a thing to us.” 

“Nor to father, either! That’s the 
queer part of it,” added Martha. 

“I’ll tell you what! I will find out 
everything from my father. He will be 
sure to hear about it and tell mother, 
and I’ll get it from both of them and 
tell you,” eagerly said John. 

“Ef yoh-all goin’ away so soon, all de 
moah reason foh us to get agoin’ and 
hab a good time today,” said Jim, logi¬ 
cally. “Spechully as mah fadder er 
Mose mought come along dis away and 
ketch us heah wid’dall dis lunch.” 

“Jim’s right. And he hasn’t had a 
smitch to eat this morning, either,” said 
Martha, cheering up visibly, now that 
there was a hope of sport in the near 
future. 

“That’s good advice. Let’s not ‘cross 
bridges before we get to them,’ ” added 
George. 


THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 35 

Then the four friends each took a 
burden and started off on the way to the 
schoolhouse. They knew the road 
well, as it was the one that led direct 
to the station and postoffice. They 
trudged for some time in silence, each 
thinking of the dire blow that would fall 
and separate them for the winter. But 
after five minutes of this unusual quiet, 
Jim piped up. 

“Ah reckon it mus’ be mos’ lunch¬ 
time?” 

“My goodness! We forgot to give 
Jim his breakfast,” cried Martha, stop¬ 
ping short to look around for a suitable 
spot. 

“Ah see’d dat fallen chestnut tree 
ober dere an’ Ah thought it would mak 
a good seat foh all us,” ventured Jim. 

“Just what it will, too. Let’s climb 
over the fence and wait there while Jim 
eats,” said John. 

In a few moments more, the four were 
seated side by side on the old tree-trunk, 
and George was acting as Master of 
Ceremonies. He opened the boxes and 
told Jim to help himself. . 

But the sight of biscuits and nicely 


36 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

browned chicken started anew the ap¬ 
petites of the other three as well, so they 
all decided to have something just to 
keep Jim company. 

When this road-side lunch was fin¬ 
ished, it was nearly eleven o’clock, so 
the boxes were tied again and the four 
resumed their tramp towards the school- 
house. 

“They have recess at eleven,” ven¬ 
tured John. 

“We’ll get there soon after that, won’t 
we?” said George. 

“Yes; I’d rather not let them see us 
coming, if they are out playing,” added 
John. 

“Of course not. We want to surprise 
the enemy.” 

Soon after this, the four reached the 
Creek which was bridged by a pretty 
rustic bridge, but it had solid pillars 
underneath, making it staunch enough 
to resist the spring freshets. 

“There’s the woods I spoke about, 
where we can hide our lunch-boxes 
while we go on to the schoolhouse,” 
said John, pointing towards the wood- 



THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 37 

land that began at the bridge on one side 
of the road. 

“All right, and we’ll mark the place 
some way, so we can run right to the 
boxes when we have won a victory over 
our enemy,” giggled Martha, all 
anxious for the fun. 

So the boxes were hidden under a 
group of brookwillows that hung right 
down to the water’s edge, and formed a 
green curtain all about the trunks. 
Then the onmarching army of four re¬ 
gained the road and looked forward to 
the surprise attack. As they marched, 
George advised his army. 

“I suppose the enemy will all be 
studying when we get there, and maybe 
the teacher will be at the black-board. 
We can’t afford to waste a bit of ammu¬ 
nition, you know, as we only have a 
little. So we must make the most noise 
we can with what I have.” 

So saying, George carefully emptied 
his pockets of sundry packages. 

“What is it?” eagerly asked three 
voices about him. 

“You’ll never guess! ’cause I didn’t 
know it myself until this morning when 


38 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

I was hunting up in the attic!” chuckled 
George. 

Martha had instantly opened one of 
the small packages and then exclaimed: 
“Oh, wonderful! I forgot we had them, 
too.” 

“Giant Torpedoes—I’ll eat my hat!” 
gasped John, smiling broadly as he be¬ 
gan to understand the fun planned. 

“Yep! Martha and I put them away 
on the Fourth of July, thinking we’d 
use them some time while playing a big 
battle, you know. Then we went on 
that trip to New York and everywhere, 
and never remembered them again until 
I found them in a box.” 

“Is we goin’ to shoot dem right in de 
room?” asked Jim. 

“I thought we’d creep up to the win¬ 
dows first, and get a report on the situ¬ 
ation of the enemy. When our scouts 
all come together to report, we’ll decide 
when and where to attack. I’ll divide 
this ammunition with you now, but 
don’t drop any or it will go off and 
we’ll have that much less for the battle!” 
warned George. 

Then the torpedoes were equally di- 



THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 39 

vided, seven coming to each one, and 
one extra to George for bringing them. 

“You don’t s’pose they are spoilt by 
being in the attic, do you?” asked John 
fearfully. 

“I’ll try this extra one and see,” sug¬ 
gested George. So he held it aloft and 
threw it down forcefully upon a rock. 

The explosion it made startled the 
wild birds in the woods, and caused a 
flock of crows to squawk loudly. The 
army laughed gleefully, for the ammu¬ 
nition was a huge success. 

Having arrived within twenty paces 
of the little house that was the center of 
learning for all the children within ten 
miles radius, the army stood and looked 
around suspiciously. No one was in 
sight, and no vehicle could be seen com¬ 
ing or going along the road that ran 
past the schoolhouse. 

“Now, scouts, creep up and get a line 
on the camping enemy. Don’t let them 
see you peeping in at the windows, 
either. Better stand away, somewhat, 
and look in. I’m going to get over back 
of that lilac bush and spy, then no one 
can see me,” said George. 


40 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

The four who composed the Great 
American Army of Independence now 
separated and each found a position 
where the enemy could be watched but 
where he or she was hidden. John was 
behind the wood-shed, George in the 
lilac bushes; Martha stepped inside the 
front door and hid in the tiny hallway. 
The inner door was partly open so she 
could not only see but hear all that was 
going on inside. 

Jim was the last to find a place, then 
seeing the old apple tree that had a 
crooked bough hanging over the en¬ 
trance to the school, he climbed up that 
and sat astride the bough, able, by lean¬ 
ing over, to watch the children at their 
lessons. 

George had said: “When I give the 
signal of a cat-call you all must shoot. 
Hit the side of the house near the win¬ 
dows the first time. Count sixty and 
then follow this broadside by another 
round, aiming for the windows so the 
torpedoes will crack like a cannon when 
they hit the panes of glass.” 

All three members of the army now 
waited anxiously for the General’s sig- 


THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 41 

nal, and when it did come, four torpe¬ 
does were hurled at the side of the 
schoolhouse from different angles. 

As Martha stood just indoors, she 
dropped her torpedo inside the room- 
door. The four shots exploded at differ¬ 
ent times but quite closely after each 
other, so that the result was all the army 
could hope for. The shot fired by 
Martha caused the most panic, as it ex¬ 
ploded right behind the teacher who 
stood near the door. Not a sign of any¬ 
one had, given a warning, and when the 
torpedoes fell the teacher, as well as the 
scholars, were so startled that some 
screamed, others jumped, and the 
teacher ran crying down the aisle. 

Then all was quiet for a time. Not a 
scholar knew who the culprit could be. 
That it was one of the bad boys there 
was no doubt. The teacher managed to 
calm herself and demand: 

“Which one of you scholars did that?” 

Martha stood just outside the door 
trying to hold her mouth to choke the 
laughter. 

“Whoever it was had better stand up 
because I am-” At this moment 



42 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

three terrible cracks sounded on the 
windows and Martha, having forgotten 
to count sixty, flung all her remaining 
torpedoes inside the room and then ran 
for her life. 

The explosions and echoes in the 
room, and the screams combined to 
make a veritable pandemonium; then 
George and John, seeing Martha flee, 
fired all their ammunition at the house 
and followed after the first retreating 
division of the army. Jim being strad¬ 
dled up in the tree, saw the boys get 
away and thinking the enemy close 
upon their heels, managed to slide down 
the knotty trunk, but left strips of his 
pantaloons clinging to the rough bark. 

Just as he reached the ground, one of 
the big boys ran out to see what all the 
disturbance was about. Jim, fearing he 
would be caught, threw his handful of 
torpedoes at the boy. 

The boy dodged them but they fell on 
the large stone steps before the door, 
and the crowd of girls and boys that had 
followed the first boy out, were fright¬ 
ened to bits when the six giant torpe¬ 
does exploded under their feet. 


THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 43 

The big boy gave chase to Jim who 
was very fleet-footed in spite of his bent 
legs, so that the escaping assailant 
reached his confederates before the ad¬ 
vance guard of the enemy could come 
up. 

“Now we must retreat in haste but in 
good order. Our ammunition is used 
up and no reinforcements have joined 
us with fresh rounds of ammunition,” 
shouted George, but the big boy heard. 

He was puzzled over the whole affair, 
but he was determined to find out what 
these four strangers meant by interrupt¬ 
ing class. So he ran on until he reached 
the bridge. From here he saw the four 
youngsters disappear in the dense woods 
and, believing them to belong to the 
gypsy caravan that was encamped in the 
other end of those same woods, he gave 
up the pursuit. When he turned to go 
back to school, George, who was squat¬ 
ting under the willows watching his 
pursuer, announced to his army: 

“All attempts to capture the brave 
General Washington and his men 
proved futile. Having successfully 
raided the enemy camp, and caused 


44 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

great havoc everywhere, the American 
Army withdrew in orderly manner to 
their own camp. 

“Although the enemy sent forth its 
bravest and oldest fighters, they feared 
to follow and attack the retreating 
Army, for they feared an ambuscade in 
the bushes on the banks of the Brandy¬ 
wine.” 

As George paused to think of what 
more to say, John and Jim watched him 
with admiration plainly expressed in 
their faces. What a fine historian 
George was, to be sure! But Martha 
laughed outright, then said: 

“Oh, George! You’ve got your two 
wars mixed together!” 

“What do you mean?” demanded 
George. 

“You’ve mixed the Revolution and 
the Civil Wars so well that John never 
knew the difference.” 

“Maybe I did that on purpose to see 
if you children knew where I mixed the 
story,” said George, smiling with su¬ 
periority. “But allow me to conclude 
my speech to my Army, Madam Wash¬ 
ington !” 


THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 45 

George stood up and placed his hand 
inside his coat and the other hand be¬ 
hind his back, as many pictures of 
Washington are taken, then he said: 

“After this gallant attack and glori¬ 
ous victory, my men, we will close the 
present campaign. The Army needs 
rest and refreshment and seeing the 
commissary department not so far down 
the Creek, where we left it under the 
Willows, we will now proceed to join it 
and celebrate our escape without loss or 
bloodshed.” 

“Hey—see dere, General! Ah shore 
done saw someone snoopin’ unner dose 
trees!” cried Jim, jumping up and 
pointing in the direction of the lunch- 
boxes. 

The others also jumped up and ran 
out from under the screening willows, 
but no one could be seen. 

“You were dreaming, Jim,” laughed 
Martha. 

“Naw, Ah wasn’t neider. Ah seed a 
man jus’ as shore as Ah’m bawn!” de¬ 
clared Jim, positively. 

Just then the army heard the yelping 
of a dog, and soon after, the animal ran 


46 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

out into the open but a long distance 
farther down the stream. 

“Now, dat dawg b’longs to de man 
Ah saw. Mebbe he tuk our commissary 
depahtment, General,” said Jim. 

The very suggestion caused the entire 
army to run as fast as the bushes and 
stones would permit, to anxiously hunt 
for their valuable larder. Not a sign of 
it was found, but a plain trail through 
the tall grass could be seen, which the 
thief had made after he shouldered the 
four boxes. 

“Gee! Now we’ve got to fight a real 
war to win back our property,” said 
John. 

“If we only had some of that ammu¬ 
nition left we’d frighten him,” added 
George. 

“If he is a tramp with a dog, we’d bet¬ 
ter not attack too boldly,” ventured 
Martha, “but skirmish around first, and 
see if we can find a weak spot.” 

“Yes, and let him eat up all that 
chicken and quince preserve!” moaned 
George. 

“An’ dem raised biskits whaf-foh Ah 



THE RAID BY THE ENEMY 47 

mos’ done got ketched!” added Jim 
mournfully. 

“Oh dear! I’m awful hungry, too,” 
sighed John. 

“Come along, don’t let’s waste a min¬ 
ute here. We’ll go after him—we’re 
four to one!” announced George, 
throwing out his chest with courage. 

“But the dog!” said Martha. 

“We’ll make friends with the dog and 
then shoot the tramp,” explained 
George. 

“If we only had a real gun!” added 
John. 

“That’s what I say! It’s so foolish of 
our folks not to let us have rifles when 
we really need them for protection,” 
said George, wagging his head approv¬ 
ingly at John for the suggestion. 

The four then hurried in the wake of 
the fleeing enemy who always managed 
to keep so far in front that they could 
not see very well who he might be. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


THE GYPSIES AND THE REAL THIEVES 

The American Army had almost 
come out to the other side of the strip 
of woods they were passing through, 
when they lost all track of the man who 
had the lunches. They hunted in vain 
for some sign or trail he might have 
made by broken bushes, downtrodden 
grass, or other way. But not one thing 
was found. Even the dog had stopped 
barking and yelping as if in joy. 

“Here’s where two woodland paths 
cross—which shall we take in following 
our man?” asked John. 

“That one leads to the lake, and that 
one goes along the back road that leads 
to our back garden,” said Martha, read¬ 
ing from a small sign that was nailed to 
a pine tree. 

“We don’t want to go home by the 
back road, so let us take this path. The 
man most likely went this way to reach 

48 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 49 

the lake. He expects to sit down there 
and enjoy his stolen lunch,” advised 
George. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Jim, bending 
over and slapping his knees. 

“What are you laughing at? Give us 
something funny, too, won’t you?” 
asked John. 

“Ah wus wonnerin’ ef dat tramp 
knew he was a-stealin’ stolen lunch- 
boxes. We ain’t no better en him, cus 
we-all stole dat lunch, too!” 

“You think that is so funny!” scorned 
George. 

“Shore it am!” laughed Jim again. 

“Jim’s right—it is funny if you stop 
to think of it,” added Martha, smiling to 
keep Jim company. 

“I’ve found something funnier than 
that to laugh at—ha, ha, ha!” exclaimed 
George, forcing his laughter. 

The others looked at him, and John 
followed the direction of George’s gaze. 
Then both laughed quite naturally. 
Martha stood in front of Jim, and when 
she saw the boys look at the little picka¬ 
ninny’s torn pantaloons, she scowled at 
them. 


50 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“You’ll each have to donate a pair of 
your own breeches to Jim, to make up 
for these he has torn to strips. His 
Mammy’ll spank him and make him go 
to bed all day if you don’t help him out 
of the dilemma.” 

“Ah did it when you-all runned a\yay 
an’ lef’ me alone up in dat apple-tree 
wid de enemy pouring out of de school¬ 
room ready to capture me,” complained 

Jim. 

“Yes they did, Jim, and I’ll see that 
you get a good pair of George’s knick¬ 
erbockers to keep!” said Martha. 

“If you do, I’ll give Jinny some of 
your nice handkerchiefs and, and—lots 
of other things,” threatened George. 

Martha smiled wisely, and whispered 
to Jim: “You just wait and see! Don’t 
worry about these old rags, ’cause I’ll 
get you good ones instead.” 

Jim smiled for he had every confi¬ 
dence in Martha’s promise. But they 
had been going along the path for some 
time now, and the two boys in advance 
must have heard someone, for they 
stopped and peered through the bushes 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 51 

that grew on the bank at the side of the 
footpath. 

“Did you ever!” gasped John, who 
was taller because he stood upon a stone 
and could see better. 

“What is it?” asked Martha, eagerly. 

“Is it de man wid de lunch-boxes?” 
added Jim. 

“S-sh!” warned George, crouching 
down and pulling John down also. 

“It’s a big camp of gypsies. They’re 
all along the shore of the Lake. The 
horses are tethered quite close to us 
here.” 

“Maybe it was a gypsy who stole our 
boxes,” instantly answered Martha. 

“That’s what it was, John!” abetted 
George, suddenly realizing the logic of 
his sister’s words. 

“Then it’s ‘good-by’ lunch!” said 
John. 

“Ah s’pose dem gypsies is all enjoyin’ 
dat chicken by now!” sighed Jim. 

“I’d like to do something to get square 
with them!” said George vehemently. 

“Can’t we play George Washington 
on them and get some satisfaction out 
of it?” ventured Martha. 


52 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“Let’s all think hard of something 
Washington did that we can play on 
these old gypsies,” said George to his 
army. 

“It doesn’t have to be a battle that 
happened after Philadelphia, does it?” 
asked John. 

“No—any old war that will make the 
gypsies see we won’t stand for having 
our lunch-boxes stolen.” 

“Then I say—let’s remember some 
raid where horses were stolen. We can 
easily lead those horses away, and play 
the raid as Washington’s Army did. 
Gypsies will miss their horses more than 
we missed our lunch,” suggested 
Martha. 

“Gee! That’s the idea! We’ll get 
the horses away!” exclaimed the boys in 
unison. 

“I remember some of the happenings 
at Fort Duquesne,” suggested Martha. 

“Oh, yes! That was when the Indians 
raided the settlers’ homes, so all the peo¬ 
ple ran for their lives to the Fort and 
left whatever valuables they had for the 
thieves,” added George. 

“That’s it. We’ll be the Indians and 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 53 

these gypsies can be the early settlers,” 
declared John. 

“Ah’se heard mah daddy say dat 
folkses kin be sent to jail foh stealin’ 
hosses,” ventured Jim, fearfully. 

“But that was for stealing horses—we 
are only going to lead them over to a 
better pasture than what they are now 
eating,” said George, quickly. 

“That’s all. Come along,” added 
John. 

Jim seemed to apprehend unpleasant 
results from the unselfish interest his 
companions took in seeing that the 
horses had a better meal than the own¬ 
ers could give them, so he hung back. 

“Jim, Washington cheerfully ac¬ 
cepted the order to leave his happy 
home and go all the way over to Fort 
Duquesne to help the poor settlers, and 
his men eagerly obeyed everything he 
told them to do. Now I am Washing¬ 
ton, you know, and my men must obey 
me,” said George, thinking it wise to 
quell at once any refractory soldier in 
his army. 

John nodded approval of this tactic, 
and Jim shuffled after his superior offi- 


54 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

cers as they crept up to the bushes near 
the horses. 

“Now let me instruct you, my men, in 
your duties,” whispered George, seeing 
that his three companions were close 
behind him. 

“I’ll manage to creep out to that near¬ 
est horse and undo the rope that ties 
him to that stump. I’ll lead the animal 
over here by backing up again to these 
bushes. Then Martha can lead him 
along the path by which we came. Next 
I will untie the second horse and turn 
him over to John to follow Martha. 
Keep right on going, John and Marth, 
until you find a fine green pasture.” 

“Then I will get a horse for Jim, and 
last I will lead one, or more, if I can 
get them.” George glanced at his sol¬ 
diers as he spoke and waited to see if 
there were any suggestions to improve 
upon his plans. 

“S’pose that dog smells us leading the 
horses away and runs up to see who we 
are?” ventured John, suspiciously. 

“I guess he ran after the man who 
stole our boxes,” replied Martha, confi¬ 
dently. 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 55 

“Come along—don’t let’s lose any 
more time,” urged George, impatiently. 

The others agreeing to his plans, he 
then crept up and managed to lead back 
one old horse without any sound or sign 
being given at the camp. Martha soon 
had the gentle old beast following 
quietly after her as she hurried along 
the pathway. Then George crept up 
again to the other horse and secured 
that one. John then took the rope and 
followed along the path already trod¬ 
den by Washington’s first soldier. 

But the third horse that George tried 
to untie from the tree was a young ani¬ 
mal and pranced about wildly as a 
stranger began fussing and tugging at 
the rope. The other horses threw up 
their heads and sniffed, and one of them 
began backing and pulling at his hal¬ 
ter. George took alarm at the signs of 
fright in the animals and, fearing lest 
they neigh or whinny for their masters, 
he hurried back to Jim. 

“Jim, George Washington was a very 
careful General and never exposed his 
men to any danger, so I am not going 


56 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

to get you any wild horse to lead, but we 
will hurry after John and Martha.” 

“Ah’se glad ob dat, Garge, ’cause Ah 
don’ like dis hoss bisnis, nohow,” sighed 
Jim, jumping up and scuttling off as fast 
as he could go. 

George had great difficulty in keep¬ 
ing up with his runaway soldier but he 
dared not call to Jim to stop and wait 
for him because the gypsies might hear 
him and give chase. 

They soon caught up with Martha 
and John, and when the four that com¬ 
prised the army reached the spot where 
the pathway met the road that ran past 
the rear of the Graham’s and Parke’s 
estates, George called a halt. 

The horses began nibbling at the wild 
grass while the General commanded his 
men what next to do. But suddenly, 
John offered a protest to Washington’s 
new orders. 

“Why, you said we were going to be 
the Indians that raided the homesteads 
of the early settlers! Now you tell us 
what Washington and his army did at 
Fort Duquesne, and that we must do so 
also. We can’t be both Indians and 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 57 

American Army at the same time, can 
we?” 

George had forgotten that they were 
going to be the Indians for that time, 
and was silenced for a moment; but only 
for a moment. He soon explained the 
situation to his men, especially as they 
were willing to have such an explana¬ 
tion. 

“You see, we had to be Indians before 
we got the horses, ’cause General Wash¬ 
ington would never stoop to such dread¬ 
ful raids as these Redskins practised. 
But once the horses were safely out of 
the Fort and led away from the home¬ 
steads, why, then, the American Army 
could chase them and kill all the In¬ 
dians and take possession of the horses.” 

“Then we ought to have a fight right 
now and kill all the Indians,” suggested 
Martha. 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” sug¬ 
gested John, looking down the pathway 
he had come with his horse but a few 
minutes before, “I’ll still be the Indian, 
and Martha can, too, but Jim and you 
be the American Defenders and chase 
us. If you catch us then we will play 


58 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

we are killed and you must take the 
animals.” 

“I’ll get up on my horse and ride 
bareback, so’s it will seem more like a 
chase,” said Martha. 

“I’ll do it, too!” eagerly added John, 
as this was going to be real fun for him. 

“Ah cain’t run as fas’ as dem hosses 
travel, an’ Ah’ll be lef’ clean behin’!” 
objected Jim, watchfully scanning the 
woods. 

“I’ll hold your hand, Jim, and keep 
you up with me. I like John’s plan and 
we can catch them and then we’ll ride 
and they’ll have to walk behind in cap¬ 
tivity,” said George, hopefully. 

“Here—one of you boys , hold my 
horse while I climb up on his back,” 
said Martha, offering the rope to 
George. 

“Jim’ll hold him while I help you 
up,” suggested her brother. 

So the rope was passed on to Jim, and 
George tried to boost Martha up on the 
slippery sleek back of Old Dobbin. 
But she slid down again as often as 
George lifted her a few feet above the 
ground, and finally he grew impatient. 


THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 59 

“Say, Marth, I can’t keep boosting 
you forever! Can’t you get a good hold 
over his back and pull yourself up a 
bit?” 

“What can I get a hold on? His 
back’s as smooth and slippery as a cro¬ 
quet ball,” objected Martha. 

“Well, then, you’ll have to come over 
here to this little birch tree and climb up 
that. We’ll take the horse under it and 
you’ll have to drop on his back that 
way,” explained George. 

So Martha climbed up the young 
birch and waited for her steed to be 
brought to her horse-block. Jim led the 
docile old horse over through the 
bushes and George called to his sister: 

“Now climb out on the branch and 
slide off on the horse!” 

Martha obediently began to creep out 
an the slender bough but it bent quickly, 
as young birches will, and before she 
could catch hold of the parent-trunk 
again, she was sliding off—sliding be¬ 
fore she could feel assured she would 
land on the horse’s back. 

It took but a few seconds for her to 
leave the faithless birch and land plump 


6 o WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


upon the horse’s neck. But so fright¬ 
ened was she, that she caught hold any¬ 
where for safety. 

Her clutch happened to come on the 
horse’s mane and ears, but at the same 
time, Jim stepped in a yellow-jackets’ 
nest and brought out the furious bees in 
a swarm. Why should anyone dare to 
break in their own private honey¬ 
combs? 

So they flew about in a great fury and 
landed on anything that offered a place 
to sting. Not only did Jim find the 
yellow-jackets unpleasant companions, 
but Martha and her steed quickly rea¬ 
lized how they could sting. Off went 
the old horse, galloping back for camp 
as fast as he could cover the uneven 
woodland road. 

George and John had instantly 
sought a place of safety as far from the 
scene of assault as they could run and 
still lead the horse John held. From 
this vantage point of refuge, George 
shouted to Jim: 

“Run after Martha and catch the 
horse!” 

But Jim heard him not. He was too 



THE GYPSIES AND THIEVES 61 


painfully occupied in dodging and 
beating off the yellow-jackets. He ran 
here, then there, but the angry bees fol¬ 
lowed, believing that he was the sole 
cause of their interrupted home-life. 

Jim’s cries and woe finally appealed 
to the General’s humanity, and as the lit¬ 
tle pickaninny ran past bim, he compli¬ 
mented him for his courage and brav¬ 
ery. 

“You are a credit to the American 
Army, Jim. You see, you were bravely 
going to kill the Indians when another 
army that was unseen, in ambush, flew 
at you. Some of those awful sharp¬ 
shooters nipped you but didn’t manage 
to kill you. Now you will be given 
furlough and can go to a hospital to be 
all mended.” 

George’s praise was sweet to Jim’s 
ears, but the yellow-jackets’ daggers had 
left painful reminders on his legs so the 
tears ran down his little black cheeks as 
he whimpered: 

“Ah’ve got to fin’ some water and mix 
up some mud.” 

“What for?” wondered John. 


62 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


I 


“To plank over dem stingers. Mud’ll 
take ’em out.” 

“Then you run to the Creek and tend 
to your honorable wounds, Jim, whiles 
I run back to get Martha,” ordered 
George. 

Jim then started for the brook while; 
George said to John: “You ride on 
slowly and we’ll catch up with you in 
no time.” 

So, John drove the horse along the 
woodland path while George hurried 
back to catch Martha’s runaway horse. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


HOW GENERAL GEORGE DEFIED THE 

ENEMY 

John had gone slowly along but 
when the horse reached the end of the 
woods, and the gables of the Graham 
house could be seen above the pine- 
trees, both horse and rider stopped to 
wait for the rest of the army. 

George ran back and found it was 
much farther to go when one was anx¬ 
ious to find a sister on a runaway horse, 
than when a party were travelling in the 
opposite direction. Not a sign of horse 
or girl could be seen, so he kept on 
going. 

He reached the spot whence the 
horses had been taken, and by peeping 
through the bushes, George found the 
other horses had all been removed. Still 
no sign of Martha could he find. 

He felt distressed because he won¬ 
dered if gypsies would kidnap as big a 

63 



64 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

girl as Martha was. And would they 
make her work hard as he had heard all 
stolen children were made to do? 

He pondered this matter very deeply 
for a minute and a half, when he deter¬ 
mined to face the thieves in their den! 
He would demand the release of his sis¬ 
ter, or threaten to arrest them. 

That he might be taken captive him¬ 
self, never entered his thoughts—was he 
not General Washington? 

But even as he decided boldly to de¬ 
mand his sister from the rascals there, 
so he began to approach the campers 
without leaving the cover of the bushes 
and trees until he had almost come upon 
the first group of women and children. 

George looked quickly about for a 
sign of Martha as he slowly left the 
screen of bushes and became the center 
of attraction of. the group nearest him. 

George playing General Washington 
to his playmates, and George creeping 
out from the bushes to ask timidly for 
Martha, were different kinds of a boy. 
He was not at all sure of his reception 
from the gypsies, especially if they had 
found out about their horses. 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 65 

“Good-day,” he began. 

The women frowned and the children 
stared at him. 

“I came for my sister. She just came 
here on one of your horses,” explained 
George, politely. 

One of the women leaned over from 
her stool and spoke in a low tone to a 
girl about ten years of age. Immedi¬ 
ately after this, the girl raced off for a 
group of men at the other end of the 
camp. George began to fear the worst. 

“Did you see my sister just now—she 
rode an old horse in from those 
bushes?” repeated George. 

One young woman shook her head 
underatingly, but the other two women 
signalled her to mind her own busi¬ 
ness. Doubtless that was what they told 
her, as George heard the short com¬ 
mand in a queer tongue, and the woman 
who had shaken her head turned and 
walked into one of the funny wagons. 

George wondered what he had best 
do when he saw the girl returning with 
two men following. They soon joined 
the women where George waited and 
exchanged a few short sentences in the 



66 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


queer speech of which George knew 
nothing. Then one of the men came 
up to him. 

“Where foh come you?” 

“I want my sister—and I want her 
quick!” demanded George, not sure 
whether the man asked what he wanted 
or where he came from. 

“Me no see any seester. Nobuddy 
here see her. When she go?” 

“She came right here a few minutes 
ago—I was right after her,” declared 
George, growing brave as he found the 
man was of a grovelling character. 

“No, no! We no see no one. We sit 
here all time.” 

“Now see here!” exclaimed George, 
feeling irritated at being so treated; 
“she isn’t in sight—neither is the horse. 
Now she was riding the old horse and 
you must have caught him and hid¬ 
den him somewhere about here. She 
was on him, so you must have hidden 
her, too!” 

At the mention of the old horse, the 
man quickly asked counsel of his com¬ 
panions. Then he turned again to the 
youthful visitor and said: 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 67 

“We no see the old horse but we go 
with you to find him.” 

“Do you think I’m going away 
from here without Martha?” demanded 
George, placing his hands in his knick¬ 
ers’ pockets and standing defiantly with 
feet apart, and shoulders back. 

The man looked bewildered, and the 
women chattered anxiously together. 

“I stay right here in this camp until 
you produce my sister and the old horse. 
I don’t care about the old nag much, but 
she rode him and that’s how I know she 
came here,” added George. 

The men shrugged their shoulders 
and moved off, while the women looked 
askance at the young stranger and then 
removed their work and lounging to an¬ 
other wagon-spot. George stood still 
for a few moments, then sauntered to 
the center wagon, where the men had 
stopped to communicate the news to 
somepne inside the fine trapped-up ve¬ 
hicle. 

Here George continued his investiga¬ 
tions for Martha, while she was safely 
petted in a farm-house a mile farther 
down the road. 



68 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


The old horse never stopped at the 
gypsy camp, but ran on and on along 
the woodland road until he reached a 
farm-yard. Here he stopped at the wide 
gate to neigh over the obstacle that sepa¬ 
rated him from his old friends, and the 
farmer in the barn hurried out. 

“Wall, wall—ef it ain’t Old Slow- 
Coach back again! Here, come in to 
to your oats, Slow-Coach,” laughed the 
farmer, as he hurried towards the gate. 

But the farmer’s wife also heard the 
whinny and she ran from the house. 
She saw Martha almost in a collapse 
upon the old horse’s back, but she still 
clung to his mane and ears. 

“Of all things! Where did you come 
from, child?” called she, as she ran over 
to help Martha down. 

The farmer now came up, but he had 
not seen the rider before, as he was so 
near-sighted. Now he, too, gasped as 
he saw the rider on Old Slow-Coach. 

Martha was half-carried into the 
house and made much of. As she was 
given a drink of cold milk and the farm¬ 
er’s daughter brought a nice fresh cake, 
she began to recover her usual spirits. 



DEFIED THE ENEMY 


69 

“Oh! I thought he was going to carry 
me straight to the gypsy camp where 
we found him!” sighed Martha. 

“Where you found him?” repeated 
the farmer, amazed. 

“Where you found Slow-Coach?” 
gasped the wife. 

Martha’s mouth was full of cake so 
she could not reply, but she nodded her 
head vigorously. Then when she could 
speak, she said: 

“Yes, we tried to find out where our 
luncheon was hidden when the gypsy 
stole it—we saw him running away with 
it, but all we could get was the horses 
that were tied right by the bushes where 
we were.” 

The farmer and his wife could make 
no sense of this tale as the man said: 

“Why, you must be wrong, my child! 
Slow-Coach has been out at pasture in 
the Far-Lot for the last few days.” 

“When did you see him there last?” 
asked Martha. 

“Last night, when J went to lead the 
other horse out,” replied the farmer, a 
light suddenly gleaming in his eyes. 

“That’s what it is, John! They stole 


70 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

the horses in the night, just as they stole 
the chickens and the little pigs!” ex¬ 
claimed his wife. 

“By golly! I’ll run down to the Far- 
Lot and see, and if they did that I’ll 
have them all in jail for it!” cried the 
farmer, running for his hat that always 
hung back of the kitchen door. 

Before he could reach it, however, the 
telephone rang and - Maisie, the daugh¬ 
ter, answered it. It was a neighbor 
speaking. 

“Tell your dad I saw his brown mare 
going along the path from the cross- 
* woods-road towards the Graham place. 
A saucy boy was riding him, for I said, 
‘That hoss belongs to Farmer Platt,’ 
and the little rascal laughed: ‘Well, he 
is mine now.’ Better get after that kid, 
as I hear there are gypsies around the 
country helping themselves to other 
folkses things.” 

When Maisie hung up the receiver 
she called to her father and told him the 
message, but Martha also heard it. 

“Oh, that must have been John on 
your horse. He and Jim and George 
are taking it away from the gypsies,” 



DEFIED THE ENEMY 


71 


laughed she, her faintness and fright all 
gone by this time. 

Then she had to explain how they 
came to help themselves to the two 
horses. And the three hosts laughed 
heartily as they heard how the army 
tried to spite the gypsies by hiding their 
horses because the gypsies had taken 
their nice lunch-boxes. But the joke 
was on both would-be horse-thieves, for 
now the farmer’s two stolen horses were 
on a fair road to be returned. 

Martha was breathless v/hen she con¬ 
cluded her tale, but she had not said a 
word about bombarding the school, for 
the farmer might have children there— 
and what would he do to her if he knew! 

“You hook up the young horse, Dad, 
and carry this little girl down to the 
place where the mare waits with that 
3oy. Then you can lead the mare back 
home, while you thank the children for 
saving your horses from those rascals,’’ 
said his wife. 

“But first let me pack some cakes in a 
paper and get a bottle of cold milk for 
you, little girl. As you’ve had no lunch, 




72 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

you and your brothers will be glad to 
have a bite,” added Maisie. 

“And I’ll telephone the constable to 
arrest those gypsies.” 

So Martha was soon perched upon 
the seat beside the farmer, holding fast 
to a quart bottle of milk and a dozen 
cakes. 

They went by the road that ran along 
the lake-side and directly past the gypsy 
encampment. The young horse had not 
been exercised for two days so he was 
full of go. They passed the camp in a 
flash, so that Martha, curious to see 
what it looked like from the front, had 
hardly a glimpse of it. But she thought 
she heard a plaintive howl as she flew 
past, and it seemed like her brother’s 
voice that shouted: “Mar-r—tha—! St- 
—t-op!” 

Still she knew George would be wait¬ 
ing for her at the end of the woodland 
road, and soon the farmer stopped 
where he saw his mare securely tied to 
a rail-fence. No one was in sight. 

Martha looked about, then said: “It’s 
funny that no one is here, but maybe 
they had to take Jim home. He was 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 73 

full of the yellow-jackets’ stingers, you 
know.” 

The farmer laughed loudly at this, 
and then asked: “Where does Jim live? 
And by the way, where do you live, lit¬ 
tle girl? I’m going to tell your father 
what a fine lassie he has.” 

“Oh, better not! Mother and father 
know we are fine children, but this time 
you’d better not tell them so.” 

“All the same, I’d like to know your 
last name and where you live,” insisted 
the farmer. 

“My name’s Martha Parke, and I live 
away down the road. You’d never find 
it—it’s so far away,” explained Martha. 

The farmer laughed again: “Why, I 
sell butter and eggs to the Parkes—that 
isn’t so far from here. And you’re 
Martha Parke, are you? Well, well! 
I’ve heard tell of you and your brother, 
George Washington! Ha, ha, ha!” 

Martha frowned. Why did he laugh 
like that? 

But the laugh must have reached the 
ears of a boy hiding deep in the roadside 
bushes, for he crept out now that he 
heard the cheerful words and laughter. 


74 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

It was John, looking dusty and fright¬ 
ened. 

“Gee! Martha, I’m glad you’re back. 
I was left all alone with that horse, and 
when he began to act up I had to jump 
off and leave him. A man saw him wan¬ 
dering around and so he tied him up to 
the fence.” 

The farmer then took over his right¬ 
ful possession and, having invited the 
children to visit him at the farm, he 
drove back. Martha then asked J ohn: 

“Where’s Jim—and George?” 

“Why, George ran after you. He 
said he was ’fraid the gypsies would kid¬ 
nap you, so he went to get you away. 
But I don’t know where Jim can be. He 
was going to the Creek to mix some 
mud to take the stingers out of his 
legs.” 

Martha was in a quandary about 
George and Jim. She was tired and 
anxious to get home, but she could not 
leave the two brave Americans to their 
unknown fate. So she turned to John. 

“Well, we’d better sit down and eat 
the cake and drink the milk before it 
goes sour. When the other two join us 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 


75 

—it will be too near supper-time for 
them to eat, as it will spoil their appe¬ 
tites for supper, you know—we will 
hurry right home.” 

John agreed with Martha on this 
point, so they sat down and were soon 
enjoying the lovely cake and milk. 
When the last crumb had disappeared, 
Jim was seen limping painfully along 
the dusty road. 

“Better throw the bottle over that 
fence, John, and don’t say a word about 
the cakes, or poor Jim’ll feel worse,” 
said Martha, hastily. 

John realized the logic of this advice 
and the milk bottle landed back of the 
bushes before Jim was aware that his 
friends were so near. Then his face 
brightened up with relief. 

“Dem yaller-jackets damaged mail 
laigs so bad dat dey is all swelled fit to 
bust!” sighed Jim, dropping upon the 
grass as soon as he reached his com¬ 
panions. 

“Oh! look at poor Jim’s skinny legs!” 
exclaimed John. 

“They’re not skinny now—they’re 
nice and plump, Jim,” said Martha, try- 



76 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

ing to please Jim with praising his ap¬ 
pearance. 

“Ah don’ care what dey look lak— 
dey ain’t feelin’ so good as ef dey was 
befoh dem bees got hoi’ on dem,” wailed 
Jim. 

“Did you see George as you came 
along?” asked John now. 

“Jarge? Hain’t he wid yoh-all?” 
wondered Jim, amazed. 

“No, and we fear the gypsies got him 
to keep for a ransom—you know, how 
the armies used to do to each other?” 
said Martha. 

“Gee! I never thought of that—a 
real ransom, eh?” said John, envious of 
George’s privilege. 

“Pooh Jarge!” added Jim, forgetting 
the great honor such a capture would 
bring upon the captive. 

“We were just wondering what to do 
when you came along,” said John. 

“Don’ tell me to go back wid yoh-all 
—’cause Ah jus’ cain’t move, nohow!” 
exclaimed Jim. 

“No, but we were wondering whether 
we ought to go home and tell the folks,” 
explained Martha. 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 


77 


“Why didn’t we tell the farmer to stop 
at the camp and tell George to meet us 
here,” suddenly suggested John. 

“Maybe he will, anyway, ’cause he 
was going to stop and examine the men 
who stole his horses. The constable was 
to meet him there, too, and arrest the 
rascals,” said Martha. 

“I hope George won’t be arrested 
with the gypsies,” said John, as the 
thought popped into his mind. 

“Even if he was taken, the farmer 
knows who we are and he knows it was 
George that got the two horses safely 
away from the horse-thieves, so the con¬ 
stable won’t hold him, you see,” said 
Martha, anxiously scanning the long 
road that led to the woods. 

“I see a little cloud of dust away down 
there,” cried she, after a long silence. 

“It’s a wagon—going like lightnin’, 
too!” exclaimed John. 

Then it came near enough for the 
children to see that it was a gypsy 
wagon, and behind it came the other 
camp-wagons, all being driven as fast 
as the dusty road would permit. 

“For goodness’ sake! Hide under 


78 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

the bushes, boys, or we’ll all be kid¬ 
napped! The gypsies will be awful 
mad at us, you know,” exclaimed 
Martha, forcing her way through the 

bushes. 

It took no second invitation for the 
boys to obey. They were well back out 
of sight when the first vehicle drove 
past in its blinding cloud of dust. Then 
followed another, and so on, until the 
entire band had passed and were out of 
sight. 

“I reckon we can creep out and look 
around now,” whispered Martha. 

“You wait here, ’cause one can get in 
quicker’n three can,” advised wise little 
John. 

He gazed up and down the road well, 
before he said: “All safe on the Po¬ 
tomac!” 

Martha and Jim crept out, then, and 
stood up to stretch their bones. As they 
did so, a whoop nearby made them all 
jump, and someone laughed heartily. 

“Ah thought Ah’d rekernised deses 
chillums!” exclaimed Jim’s father who 
worked on Graham’s estate. 

“Oh, Daddy! Ah shore is glad to 


DEFIED THE ENEMY 


79 

see yoh! Mah pore laigs is so bad Ah 
cain’t walk no moh!” now wept Jim, 
seeing his father might possibly carry 
him in his strong arms. 

“Why, honey! What got you lak 
dat?” cried Jim’s daddy, down on his 
knees to examine his pickaninny’s sorry- 
looking legs. 

“Dem yaller-jackets. Ah bruk open 
a nes’ widdout seein’ him,” explained 

Jim. 

“Wall, wall! Yoh daddy shore got to 
carry dem laigs home, but yoh-all will 
have to walk on yoh haid!” said he, 
teasingly. But Jim knew he was saying 
that to comfort him in his misery. 

“How did you happen to come by 
here?” asked John. 

“Well, Ah met a man down-road, 
what tole me how a boy stole his neigh¬ 
bor’s hoss an’ had him up here a spell. 
When Ah heerd how dat boy looked, 
says Ah: ‘Dat soun’s jus’ lak Mas’sr 
John—but shore he cain’t be up to such 
capers, now!’ ” 

The children exchanged glances that 
were not lost on Jim’s father. The lat¬ 
ter continued: 


80 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


“When the man left, Ah started along 
to make sure it wasn’t John, and when 
Ah saw dem gypsy-wagins streakin’ off 
lak dey did jus’ now, Ah says: ‘Dat’s 
who stole dem hosses!’ 

“Ah heerd from a telerphone call dat 
Mas’sr Jarge was kidnapped by dem 
same gypsies, an’ ouh good constabule 
let him go home widdout prisonin’ him 
for helpin’ hisself to what hosses dem 
gypsies had tied up, ’cause a farmer 
promised to stan’ good fer him. So 
Jarge was sent home by dat back road, 
an’ Ah come along to fin’ de remnants 
of his American Army.” 

“Ah’se mighty glad yoh did, Daddy!” 
sighed Jim, as his father carried him in 
his arms, and the remnant of the 
Army straggled wearily after their pace¬ 
maker, on the road home. 


CHAPTER SIX 

WHO TOOK THE LUNCH-BOXES? 

For a wonder, not a word was said 
to George and Martha about their being 
away all day, or about their experience 
with the gypsy-band. This seemed 
strange, for usually, when they had such 
an escapade as that day had witnessed, 
mother punished them in a way to make 
them remember it. 

It was late afternoon when they en¬ 
tered the house hot, dusty, and hungry 
—at least George was hungry. But they 
were met by Jinny who told them to 
go upstairs and take a bath. 

“Where’s mother?” asked Martha. 

“Havin’ compn’y in the pahlor,” said 
Jinny. 

So George crept softly up the hallway 
and peeped to see who the company 
was. John’s mother was there having 
a good time with mother, but George 

81 


82 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


could not hear a word that was said, as 
both ladies spoke in very low tones. 

“I think it’s funny that John’s mother 
should call like this,” said Martha, 
when George told her who was with 
mother. 

“I s’pose she got worried over John’s 
bein’ away, and came over to ask mother 
what to do about it,” said George. 

“That’s just it! Well, let’s get 
washed up before supper,” added 
Martha, without giving another thought 
to John’s mother. 

That evening when the family sat 
down for supper, Martha and George 
found two slices of dried bread on their 
plates, and two raised biscuits for each. 
The others had the regulation meal. 

No one passed the two culprits any of 
the other dishes, so George spoke up: 
“Aren’t we going to have any soup or 
salad?” 

“You will have to eat what you have 
on your plates, then you can have the 
next course,” said mother, calmly. 

Father merely stopped talking long 
enough to allow mother to answer the 
children, then he continued without 


WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 83 

paying further attention to them. 
Mother seemed deeply interested in his 
story. 

Martha and George ate the hard 
bread and dry raised biscuits without 
another word, but they could not under¬ 
stand what it all meant. It was a queer 
form of punishment, to say the least. 

“Now we have finished these. What 
do we have next?” asked Martha, dur¬ 
ing a lull in the conversation. 

“Jinny, bring on the quince preserves 
and a cooky each,” said mother. 

When Jinny brought the quince pre¬ 
serves in a familiar-looking jar, and a 
shoe-box of cookies, from which she 
took two cakes, one for each runaway, 
Martha and George were dumbfound¬ 
ed. The box looked like the one they 
had taken that morning, but then there 
must be lots of boxes exactly like the 
ones they took. But why should Jinny 
serve the cookies in a box—and why 
bring in a jar of the preserves without 
mother saying anything to her? 

Mother helped serve the quince and 
passed a dish to each of them, then 
placed a cooky beside the dish, and told 



84 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

Jinny to carry the box and jar back to 
the pantry. 

“Is this all we get for supper? We 
had no dinner,” said George in a voice 
calculated to make his mother fear they 
would starve. 

“If you are hungry still, I can have 
Jinny bring in a part of a chicken. I 
believe you will find some meat on it.” 

“Chicken! Why, you didn’t have 
chicken,” said Martha. 

“No, we couldn’t have chicken. 
Someone stole our chicken, so we had 
to order something else,” returned 
mother, innocently. 

George wanted to ask: “Then where 
did you find this one?” but he felt 
tongue-tied for some reason. 

“Jinny, the children say they are still 
hungry. They may each have some of 
that chicken that was found in the 
woods,” said mother, when the maid re¬ 
plied to the bell. 

Martha and George looked at each 
other. What queer sort of affair was 
this, anyway! 

The chicken was brought in and it 
certainly did look familiar. There was 


WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 85 

the torn place where Jim had helped 
himself to his breakfast that morning. 
Oh, how very long ago that seemed to 
be! Yet it was only that morning. 

Jinny served a portion of the chicken 
to each of the wondering culprits, and 
they found it was cold, and must have 
been cooked for some time. It was hard 
and dry from being in the air. How¬ 
ever, they ate it without a word of com¬ 
plaint, and when the quince and cookies 
pad disappeared, they sat perfectly still 
to wait for father and mother to finish. 
Generally, they begged to be excuse.d 
as there was always some mischief to be 
attended to. But the food that night 
seemed to have a quieting effect on 
them. 

As father rose to open the door for 
mother, he said: “I trust we may often 
have the company of the children to 
the end of the meals.” 

“Perhaps we shall if they enjoy their 
food as they have tonight,” replied 
mother. 

George ran away the moment he was 
out of the dining-room and Martha fol¬ 
lowed, for she knew he was after infor- 



86 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


mation. Out in the pantry he found 
Jinny clearing away the dishes. 

“Say, Jinny! Where did you get that 
stuff you served us for supper?” de¬ 
manded he. 

“Yoh modder gave hit to me foh yoh- 
ali.” 

“Where did she get it?” asked 
Martha. 

“How shouF Ah know dat? She don’ 
tell jinny ebeything.” 

Down to the kitchen they went, and 
there they found Jim mournfully seated, 
his waist fastened securely to the back 
of the chair. Dinah was just going to 
sit down to her supper. 

“Dinah, where did you get that stuff 
you sent us for our supper?” asked both 
children at once. 

“Ah cooked hit, to be shore!” 

“You did?” from George, sceptically. 

“But when?” from Martha. 

“Ah done cookt hit today, by yoh 
mudder’s orders!” 

Martha and George winked at each 
other. “Yes, she cooked it all this 
morning,” whispered Martha to her 



WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 87 

brother. Then they turned their atten¬ 
tion to Jim. 

“What you tied up for?” 

“Kase Ah runned away agin,” whim¬ 
pered the pickaninny. 

“You did not! Dinah, did you 
believe Jim ran away?” demanded 
Martha, turning suddenly upon the 
cook. 

“He shore did! Whad else kin yoh 
call hit?” 

“Why, we only went to school to see 
if we would like it better’n going away 
from home. We took Jim along, be¬ 
cause he can go to school with us—it is 
a public school, you know, down the 
road,” explained Martha. 

George caught the idea from his sis¬ 
ter, so he added: “Yes, we were not 
sure when school was out so we needed 
some lunch in case we were too late to 
come home. But someone stole our 
box.” 

Dinah looked doubtful. “Does yoh 
modder know dis?” 

“How should she, when she hasn’t 
seen us yet. We intend explaining as 




88 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


soon as she is free for a moment,” re¬ 
plied Martha. 

“How-come yoh-all carried so many 
raised biscuits and dat chicken along?” 
demanded Dinah, her doubts gaining 
again. 

“Goodness me! That wasn’t much 
for four hungry scholars!” returned 
George. 

“But yoh diden have to be so secret 
’bout it all, ef yoh wanted to have lunch 
foh school, shorely yuh coul’ hab had 
it!” exclaimed Dinah. 

“Well, you see, mother said we had to 
go away to school, and we want to go 
where Jim goes, so we thought we’d go 
there and try it before we said anything 
to anyone about it,” said George. 

Dinah was not completely convinced 
of the fact, so she said wisely: “Ah 
reckon Ah’ll wait an’ see what comes of 
dis mess!” 

George and Martha had to leave at 
that, and cast a wistful glance at Jim, 
who sat disconsolately hunched in the 
old chair. Once up the area-steps, 
George whispered to his sister: 

“There’s something queer about this 


WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 89 

whole thing. Now how did they get 
that chicken and other stuff back? Did 
those horrid gypsies hand back the 
lunch-boxes when they were caught?” 

“Oh dear! I hope not! I’d hate to 
think I was eating the food they had 
stolen and had in camp all afternoon, 
before giving it back,” cried Martha. 

“!We saw a man running away from 
that willow-tree with our boxes, and we 
saw a dog jumping about him. He 
must have gone directly to the camp as 
we followed and could not see him on 
the road anywhere,” said George. 

Martha made no reply but sat think¬ 
ing earnestly for a time. “George, you 
didn’t see the face of that man, did 
you?” 

“No, why?” 

“Are you sure it was a gypsy? 
Couldn’t it have been a colored man?” 

“Oh, it might, but who wants to steal 
lunch-boxes?” 

“You don’t s’pose—just for argu¬ 
ment, now—that one of the men about 
the place, take Jim’s father, for instance, 
found us meeting at the Corner Post, 
and followed, eh? 


9 o WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“When we hid the boxes he might 
have hidden, too, and waited to see 
where we went or what we were up to?” 

George fixed his eyes on Martha but 
said not a word. 

She continued: “Then when we ran 
back after the bombardment, he ran off 
with our lunch-boxes to make us chase 
him. Then we could have trailed him 
home, you see.” 

“But he was gone—we couldn’t see 
hide or hair of him, you know,” argued 
George. 

“When he heard us bombard the 
school with torpedoes, he may have 
thought we had guns and would fire at 
him. Or he may have hidden in the 
bushes when we ran past to the road. 
We never thought of looking about for 
the thief, you know. We took for 
granted that he would run as fast as he 
could go along the road.” 

“But you forget that dog! He had a 
dog, you know.” 

“Any dog will keep quiet if its mas¬ 
ter orders it to. He may have com¬ 
manded it to lie down beside him in the 
bushes.” 


WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 91 

George did not want to admit that his 
judgment might have been at fault that 
afternoon in the woods, but he could 
not help wondering how those biscuits 
and other lunch-stuff got back home. 

The children fell asleep that night 
still questioning how it all could have 
happened, and the next morning father 
said: 

“Mother and I have decided to have 
you go to school at once. Yesterday’s 
escapade, as someone told us about it, 
has made me come to a sudden determi¬ 
nation. Martha and you will be ready 
to leave here and go to school tomorrow 
—Wednesday. All arrangements are 
made.” 

“O-oh, father! We didn’t want to 
go away to school!” cried George, ac¬ 
tual tears trying to well up in his eyes. 

“O—ooh,” wept Martha, not ashamed 
to cry loudly, the deeper to impress her 
father’s heart. 

But he turned away and quickly went 
into the library. The two children 
looked at each other in dismay. 

“Now we’ve gone and done it!” 


92 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

grumbled Martha, her eyes suddenly 
dry again. 

“And John will have all the fun this 
winter!” added George. 

Very little breakfast was enjoyed that 
morning. Was it because the two felt 
badly because of the imminent depar¬ 
ture, or was it because they were given 
dry biscuits raised and baked the day 
before, and some quince preserves, and 
a portion of cold chicken? 

No one seemed to notice that they ate 
little, and as soon as they could, they 
were excused and ran out to find John. 
He must be told the heart-breaking 
news at once! 

Jim joined them in the summer-house, 
and John was soon heard coming across 
the gardens. Before he reached them, 
he called: “I say! Isn’t it horrid! 
Daddy told me about you’re going away 
to school tomorrow!” 

Then there was an awful condolence¬ 
meeting. All four sat like glooms and 
talked of the horrid times each one 
would have when separated from the 
others. Jim seemed to gloom deepest 
of all, for he said he would have to live 


WHO TOOK LUNCH-BOXES? 93 

all the rest of his days down in the 
kitchen-basement with no one to care 
what became of him! 

They played that day, but over all 
their games there hung a heavy pall of 
sorrow—sorrow at a parting that was 
now only a few hours away! 

Late that afternoon, when John heard, 
for the fifth time, the horn blow for 
him to come home, the three friends 
parted, Martha and George agreeing to 
write every day, and John promising to 
reply and tell them about everything. 
Jim stood by too sad to offer any word 
of hope or cheerfulness. 

John had gone, and Jim now said a 
quavering good-by to his two staunch 
friends and associates in mischief. 
Martha shook his hand but said noth¬ 
ing, while George said: “We’ll see you 
again in the morning, Jim!” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 

As you may imagine, George and 
Martha were up early in the morning, 
to take part in all the bustle of going 
away to school. Now that the parting 
with John and Jim was over, they rather 
liked the novelty of going away all alone 
and being independent of every one. 

“I hope the trunks are packed and 
ready. I wouldn’t want to miss the 
train, would you?” suggested Martha. 

“Oh, father said all arrangements 
were made, so I s’pose he has the trunks 
ready, too.” 

There seemed to be no unusual ex¬ 
citement downstairs because of their go¬ 
ing away, and Martha had to remind 
Jinny twice that George and she would 
be away a long time. 

“Then we-all shore will have peace¬ 
ful days!” said Jinny. 

“Huh! You’re a heartless creature!” 


94 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 95 

snapped Martha, going out of the pan¬ 
try, but not until she had caught up a 
handful of vanilla snaps and was hotly 
pursued by Jinny with a wet towel. 

George sat on the door-step waiting, 
and the moment he heard the scuffle of 
racing feet across the hall-floor he 
knew his sister had something good to 
eat. 

“Here, Martha—give it to me, I can 
run faster than you!” 

But Jinny had given up the chase, 
content to call out: “You kin hab dem 
>—youse goin’ away today an’ Jinny’ll be 
havin’ fine times in her pantry all to her- 
self!” 

“Mean thing—to talk like that the 
very last day we are home,” mumbled 
Martha, but consoling herself with the 
vanilla snaps. 

Breakfast seemed quite a merry meal 
instead of a sad one such as Martha and 
George had pictured it would be. Fa¬ 
ther and mother were quite gay and 
happy, so they could not feel very 
broken-hearted about the parting. They 
never even referred to it during the 
meal, and when it was over, father said: 



96 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“Well, the children leave for school 
today, eh?” 

And mother smiled and nodded a yes. 
Then he said as he took up his hat from 
the hall stand: 

“Well, children, I sincerely trust you 
will behave yourselves and not be ex¬ 
pelled the first week. Better not tell the 
teacher that you tried to blow up the 
schoolhouse down the road.” 

Now where did he hear of that! Who 
was there to spy upon them? Martha 
and George looked earnestly at each 
other. 

“Good-by, children,” said father, kiss¬ 
ing them as was his usual custom when 
leaving for the City. But he seemed not 
to feel very keenly their going away, 
and he jumped into the auto after kiss¬ 
ing mother, without any extra kisses for 
them. He waved his hand, wafted a 
kiss for all of them and then was out of 
sight. 

“Are we really going today, mother?” 
asked Martha, half doubting the fact as 
her father had acted so natural. 

“Yes, the moment Pete brings back 
the machine. You must run in now 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 97 

and get your hats on,” said mother, go¬ 
ing indoors. 

“Where are the trunks and things?” 
asked George. 

“I sent whatever you would need at 
school yesterday, so there is nothing for 
you to carry excepting a lunch for this 
noon for each of you.” 

“Lunch! Is it so far that we have 
to eat luncheon on the way?” queried 
both children in chorus. But they were 
given no reply. 

Martha had found a nice new dress 
on the chair by her bed that morning, so 
she donned it, believing it to be her 
travelling dress. And George had a 
clean white linen suit with blue collar 
and cuffs to wear; now they found their 
hats and hunted about for coats. Usu¬ 
ally these articles were anywhere—on 
the barn-ridgepole, or up in the attic. 
This morning, however, both coats and 
hats were found in the natural hanging- 
place—the closet. 

By the time Pete brought the car back 
from the station, mother was ready and 
giving orders to Jinny for the time she 
was to be absent. Martha and George 


98 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

heard her say: “And I’ll be back in 
half-an-hour.” 

“My goodness! Isn’t mother going 
with us?” gasped Martha, looking at 
her brother. 

“She can’t be expecting us to travel 
all alone!” said he. 

“All ready, children!” cried mother, 
running out on the piazza as she heard 
the car stop on the gravelled road. 

Jinny came out to grin at them in 
farewell, but the children felt greatly 
chagrined to find no other servants were 
there to wish them good-by. Even Jim 
had failed to put in his appearance to 
say his sad farewell that morning. 

“All right, Pete. Drive on,” said 
mother, quite as if it was a most natural 
thing to do—this leaving home for a 
long absence to attend school. 

Mother spoke gaily of the lovely 
weather, the birds warbling, and the 
perfume of the flowers, but her audience 
had no heart for such matters. They 
going away from home and kin! 

They were half-way to the bridge that 
spanned the Creek where they had met 
with such unexpected experiences two 



FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 99 

days before, when the car slowed up 
somewhat. George leaned out to see 
why that should be, and saw Jim trudg¬ 
ing along the road beside his father. 

“Well, of all things! If it isn’t Jim!” 
exclaimed George. 

“Then he can say good-by to us! He 
didn’t forget us, after all, George,” said 
Martha, glad to find her black friend 
had not intentionally neglected to bid 
them farewell. 

“Tell Pete to stop the car, mother, 
while we shake hands with Jim,” said 
George, but mother was engaged in tell¬ 
ing Pete about a bad bit of road near 
the railroad station that ought to be re¬ 
ported to the County Freeholders. 

So the car whisked past Jim and his 
father, and all the good-bys came from 
George and Martha, who shouted at 
Jim and waved their hands frantically 
for him to recognise them. 

Over the bridge they flew and now 
they were quite near to the little coun¬ 
try school where they had bombarded 
the inmates only a few short hours pre¬ 
vious. Could it be, that they were now 
about to be sent away from such joys 


ioo WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


and, in the future, made to sit still and 
learn lessons properly as other children 
did? 

Martha and George exchanged looks 
as they both had a picture of the fright 
in the school-room when they dropped 
the giant torpedoes in and about the 
place. Mother was looking at a giant 
elm tree and failed to see the smile that 
almost broke into a wild laugh as the 
two mischief-makers remembered the 
raid. 

The car was almost opposite the little 
schoolhouse now, and Martha and 
George leaned over to see if any chil¬ 
dren were to be seen about. Yes, quite 
a group stood talking over some event— 
that was clear to understand. But what 
ailed Pete— 

“Pete, can’t you steer the machine?” 
cried George, as the driver brought the 
car nicely up to the entrance of the lit¬ 
tle structure. 

“What ails him?” demanded Martha, 
as she saw Pete lean back in his seat 
and fold his hands. 

“Nothing that I know of,” replied 
Mrs. Parke, as she gathered her skirt 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL ioi 


together. “Is anything the matter, 
Pete?” 

“No, ma’am—I’se all right! Feelin’ 
mighty pert, dis mawnin’, ma’am,” said 
Pete. 

“Come, children, we’ll go right in 
and see teacher,” said Mrs. Parke, as 
she stepped from the car. 

Martha and George still sat as if 
turned to stone. What did this all 
mean? Were they not going away to 
school? 

Finally Jim came along the road and 
hailed them. 

“I’se goin’, too! Daddy tol’ me about 
hit las’ night an’ da’s why Ah coul’en 
come t’ say goo-by! Ah was a-comin’ 
mahsef, see!” 

“Mother, are we going to stop here?” 
asked George. 

“You are coming to school here, but 
not to stop, I hope. Of course, there 
will be many days I fear, when the 
teacher will have to make you stop in 
after school as a punishment, but not 
every day—you surely will be good part 
of the time.” 

“But aren’t we going away on a train 


102 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


to live way off?” asked Martha, eagerly. 

“I trust not. If you fail to please the 
teacher here, however, it may be neces¬ 
sary to send you away from home to 
some boarding-school. But surely you 
will try to be good at least while you are 
at school, won’t you?” 

Just then John came running out of 
the open door of the school-building, 
and his mother followed with the young 
teacher. 

Mrs. Parke smiled and greeted the 
pretty young lady as if she were well ac¬ 
quainted with her. Then she said: 

“These are the two new scholars I 
spoke to you about Monday, Miss Ams- 
lie, when the bombardment took place. 
This is George and this is Martha 
Parke.” As she spoke, she laid a hand 
on the head of each of the children. 

Miss Amslie smiled a welcome, and 
as her two new pupils courtesied in ac¬ 
knowledgment of the introduction, they 
wondered: “What was that mother said 
just now about her being here when the 
bombardment took place?” 

They dared not look at John for in¬ 
formation, lest he say or do something 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 103 

to commit all three of them. But the 
tension was relaxed somewhat, by hav¬ 
ing Jim’s father now step up and say: 

“Ah brought Jim as yoh say, 
Missus!” 

“Oh, yes, Miss Amslie, here is an¬ 
other new scholar. This is Jim who 
lives with Mrs. Parke but whose father 
lives with us. Jim is as much a member 
of our families as either of these play¬ 
mates, so it seems right that he should 
begin school with them.” 

Miss Amslie then shook Jim’s 
scrawny little hand and smiled so that 
he was won completely from that day. 
At the same time a guilty feeling crept 
into Jim’s soul for had he not planned 
to throw torpedoes in that very school 
that was governed by such a sweet 
angel? 

It was not yet time to ring the bell 
for the school-children to assemble in 
the room, so Miss Amslie said to the 
new-comers: 

“I am really very glad you did not 
begin school Monday as we had a 
dreadful time. Some very naughty chil¬ 
dren came and threw torpedoes inside 


104 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

and all about the building, so that many 
of the children were too disturbed to 
continue their lessons. We think it 
must have been some dreadful young¬ 
sters belonging to a band of gypsies 
that was encamped by the lakeside. We 
think so, because some of the older 
scholars saw them run through the 
woods and follow the stream that leads 
up to their camp-grounds.” 

The new scholars never said a word, 
nor did they look at each other. Jim’s 
father spoke, however: 

“Ah was goin’ through dem same 
woods day befoh yistiddy. Ah saw a 
dawg hangin’ about de Crick, an’ feel- 
in’ shore he was annoyin’ a young 
beaver what’s buildin’ a dam down 
Stream, Ah hid mahself to watch. Shore 
’nuff, he was tryin’ to ketch dat beaver, 
but Ah got him ’stead. Ah tied him to 
a rope Ah had in mah poacket, and 
was goin’t’ lead him off to that gypsy’s 
camp whar he b’longed, when Ah foun’ 
a nest of lunch-boxes tucked under a 
willow tree. 

“It struck me dat some ov dose same 
raised biskits tas’ed a lot like dose my 


FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 105 

wife bakes, so I carried dem away. Ah 
wasn’t moh den a hundred yards away 
when Ah heerd dat bombardment, and 
Ah run, kase Ah feered some Bolshe¬ 
vists were doomin’ dis school! 

“Ah runned until Ah reached de back 
road and den Ah sent dat hound home 
a-howlin’ from a kick Ah gave him, and 
Ah hurried up to home. But Ah heerd 
dem vandals a-comin’ after me, so Ah 
hid in de bushes to let dem pass by. 

“Ah tell you what, Miss Amslie! Yoh 
was fertunit not to have dem pesky 
gypsies about deses parts any longer. 
Why, dem childrun even coul’ steal 
hosses like any western outlaw! I 
watched while they got away wid two 
hosses just as easy! Den Ah took to 
mah heels an’ ran home as fas’ as Ah 
coul’ go, carryin’ dat luncheon wid me. 

“An, will yoh b’lieve me! My wife 
tol me how a darin’ thief took dat same 
lot of raised biskits right from her table 
where it was a-coolin’ fer Mas’sr 
Parke’s brekfus’. And dat same chicken 
had been meant for lunch. How dey 
got all de quince preserves and cookies 
my wife can’t say. But we returned all 


io6 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


again to de rightful owners. So I say 
we ought to be mighty thankful, come 
dis Thanksgibin’, dat dem furrin tramps 
has been driven out of our country by 
the sheriff.” 

George, Martha, John and Jim heard 
this astounding confession from Jim’s 
father, without adding a word of self- 
defence, for it seemed that everyone 
blamed the bombardment and the steal¬ 
ing of the two horses on the gypsies, so 
George was not anxious to disabuse 
their minds. But he suspected his 
mother had an idea of the true maraud¬ 
ers, or why should she make them eat 
that luncheon for meals at home? 

One of the big scholars now came up 
and said to Miss Amslie: “Shall I ring 
the bell—it is nine o’clock?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Then Mrs. Parke and John’s mother 
said: “We must be going home.” 

“Won’t you step in and visit while we 
begin our day’s work?” said Miss Ams- 
lie. 

“It would be very interesting to us 
if you are sure we will not disturb the 
classes,” returned Mrs. Parke. 



FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL 107 

“Oh, not at all; the scholars like com¬ 
pany, and I always like it, too, if they 
only remain during the devotional ex¬ 
ercises,” explained Miss Amslie. 

So Mrs. Parke, Mrs. Graham, and 
Jim’s Daddy remained to watch the 
school open its daily session. 

George, John, Martha and Jim, being 
new scholars who had never attended a 
public school before, were excused from 
taking part that day. They were greatly 
interested, however, and George and 
Martha felt so thankful not to be com¬ 
pelled to leave home, that they vowed 
they would be models of deportment 
thereafter. 

So passed the first day at school, 
where the teacher and scholars all 
seemed like saints to the four culprits 
who were not quite sure whether Miss 
Amslie knew who the real bombardiers 
were. 

That Jim’s father suspected the truth 
of that school raid, and the horse steal¬ 
ing, George and Martha were certain, 
but they dared not ask anyone for fear 
of admitting the misdeed. Then too, 
they felt sure mother suspected the 


io8 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


truth, for why should they have had 
raised biscuits, chicken that was hard 
and dry, and quince preserves in their 
box of luncheon that first day of school, 
as a reminder that they were not quite 
forgiven? 

But the second day at school, the 
lunch boxes held a fine repast, so the 
four children felt their time of punish¬ 
ment was over. 

Thus passed the first few days of 
school, and the four old companions 
began to like the daily rush to be on 
time for the bell-ringing. Jim gener¬ 
ally rode with the others in the car, but 
he sat on the front seat beside Pete, his 
youngest uncle. And many a candy or 
choice bit of lunch he was given in ex¬ 
change for that envied seat—where one 
could see just how to drive a car. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

Washington’s experiences A la george 

The weeks glided by swiftly to the 
children who considered school more 
like a game than work, and consequent¬ 
ly learned whatever lessons were given 
them much quicker and more thorough¬ 
ly than if they shirked because it was 
like work. 

Miss Amslie was delighted with the 
wonderful progress the four children 
had made in American history. Con¬ 
sidering their ages, she thought they 
were very far advanced in this particu¬ 
lar study, but then she had not been told 
how they had learned about Washing¬ 
ton’s life. 

One day, long remembered, in the lat¬ 
ter part of October, Miss Amslie started 
a plan to read for half an hour every 
afternoon, from the Life of Washing¬ 
ton. A new illustrated book had been 

sent the school library by Mrs. Parke, 

109 


IIO WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


and the reading began with much inter¬ 
est expressed by the scholars. 

The first chapters of the book were 
not so absorbing to the four members 
of the American Army we all know so 
well, but when the teacher began to read 
from hitherto unknown incidents and 
experiences of the great general, then 
the four playmates began to follow care¬ 
fully every word and deed. 

Miss Amslie had been reading the ac¬ 
count of Arnold and Andre, and every¬ 
one was listening to the story of faith¬ 
lessness. 

“In the early part of the month of 
August when General Washington 
meditated an attack on New York, he 
oroposed that General Arnold should 
nave command of part in the enter¬ 
prise. This Arnold declined, alleging 

that his lameness interfered with his do- 

* 

ing his duty. Washington never doubt¬ 
ed that this was the true cause of his re¬ 
fusing the post, and so he managed to 
secure for the man the command of 
West Point and its dependencies. 

“Washington exerted himself to pre¬ 
vent the British from establishing a 



WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES m 


communication between Canada and 
New York, and West Point was con¬ 
sidered the key of that communication. 
Hence it was necessary to place in com¬ 
mand a man whose zeal and courage 
and fidelity to the Cause of American 
Freedom was of the highest order. 

“Arnold had been considered a most 
selfish man in many ways but no one 
doubted his loyalty to his country, so 
he was given this place of high trust and 
confidence. But he, impetuous and des¬ 
perate, and governed by his passions, 
secretly determined to abandon and be¬ 
tray the American Cause. He entered 
into negotiations with the British for 
that purpose. 

“He hated his old associates because 
they had tried to lead him away from 
indulgences which they knew would be 
his undoing and he determined to in¬ 
flict a deadly wound on these same 
friends. 

“Ambitious and fond of display of his 
wealth and power, Arnold had entered 
into privateering and reckless invest¬ 
ments to increase his income, but it all 
had proved unsuccessful, so that he was 



112 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


worse off than before he began to en¬ 
gage in these unworthy trades. His 
funds were exhausted and the creditors 
became restive. 

“In July he presented heavy account 
bills against the public but the com¬ 
missioners rejected them as unfair. 
Then he appealed to Congress but that 
body reported that he had been allowed 
more than he had a right to expect or 
demand. 

“So, furious at this failure to retrieve 
his fortune, he resolved to increase his 
wealth by committing the foulest trea¬ 
son, the more so, because he planned and 
perfected his traitorous act merely to 
gratify revenge and mad ambition. 

“Major Andre, of the British army, 
was a young officer of distinguished 
talents and character. He entered into 
a correspondence with Mrs. Arnold, on 
the pretence of selling her millinery. 
But it ripened into treason on the part 
of Arnold. For after his appointment 
to West Point, the correspondence con¬ 
tinued under the assumed names of Gus- 
tavus and Anderson. 

“Then Arnold wished to bring nego- 



WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 113 

tiations to a speedy finish, so he sent 
word to Clinton, whose sloop-of-war 
was stationed in the North River, near 
enough to facilitate the exchange of 
messages then going on, that he wished 
to have a conference with a confidential 
agent from the British. The amiable 
and accomplished Andre was selected 
for this role. 

“On the night of September 2 1st Ar¬ 
nold sent a boat to the Vulture to carry 
Andre to the river bank outside of the 
posts held by the Americans. Here 
Arnold met him and concluded the ne¬ 
gotiations for selling out his self-respect 
to the British. But the dawn came on 
before the conclusion of the agreements, 
and it was impossible for Andre to re¬ 
turn in full daylight to the Vulture. 

“Arnold then suggested that he be 
concealed for the day and return to his 
boat at night. So, without his being 
aware of the fact that Arnold conducted 
him within the American lines (the very 
thing that he had stipulated he should 
not be made to do if he accepted this 
errand for Clinton), he spent the day 
with Arnold and when darkness again 


1 14 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

fell over the earth, he started to return 
to his own people. 

“But the boatmen refused to carry 
him down to the Vulture, as it had 
shifted its position during the day, to be 
out of reach of a cannon that had an¬ 
noyed it considerably. Hence Andre 
found he would have to escape by land. 

“He changed his uniform for a com¬ 
mon coat, and having procured a horse, 
under the name of John Anderson and 
with a passport furnished by Arnold, set 
out alone on his journey to White 
Plains, or further if he found it neces¬ 
sary. 

“He passed the American guards and 
posts on the road without being sus¬ 
pected, but Arnold had a scouting par¬ 
ty, chiefly militia, between the two out¬ 
posts of American and British armies, 
and a member of one of these parties 
suddenly sprung from a covert and 
seized the horse’s bridle. 

“Surprised by this unexpected onset, 
the Major lost his presence of mind and, 
mistaking the man for a British parti¬ 
san, instead of showing his passport as 
he should have done, he asked permis- 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 115 

sion to proceed as he was a loyal British 
officer. 

“Two other scouts then ran up and 
Andre realized his fatal error. He of¬ 
fered the most tempting rewards for his 
freedom, but they refused to listen to a 

word. He was conducted to Colonel 

* 

Jamieson, the officer of the scouting 
party, and there he said he was John 
Anderson. 

“Rather than disclose his real identity 
and errand, which would involve Ar¬ 
nold as well, Andre maintained that he 
was John Anderson, and no other. He 
was anxious to warn Arnold of his cap¬ 
ture and the consequent risk the Ameri¬ 
can officer ran, so actually sent word to 
Arnold by Jamieson, by begging the 
latter officer to call Arnold to witness 
whether he was a loyal American or a 
British subject—as his captor had de¬ 
clared the prisoner had confessed when 
first captured. 

“Now Jamieson had suspected Ar¬ 
nold of infidelity to the Cause of Free¬ 
dom, and, hoping to prove his sus¬ 
picions true, he had notice of Andre s 
capture and detention sent to Arnold. 


ii6 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


Several papers in Arnold’s hand-writ¬ 
ing had been found in Andre’s boot, 
and with other papers was one exactly 
showing the map of West Point, with 
all particulars valuable for the British 
to know. 

“These papers with a letter of ex¬ 
planation, were sent to Washington, 
but the prisoner had avowed he was no 
other than Major John Andre, of the 
British Army, and not a spy as had been 
first decided against him. 

“Washington was shocked when he 
read of Arnold’s treason, and took 
prompt measures to protect the post, 
and to prevent the escape of the traitor. 
But Arnold had already heard of the 
capture of Andre through one of his 
own outposts, and he hastened to reach 
the Vulture which lay some miles be¬ 
low Verplanck’s Point. 

“Washington appointed a board of 
officers of which General Greene was 
president, and Lafayette, Stuben and 
other well-tested men were members, to 
investigate the case of Major Andre 
During the time he was under arrest, 
Andre made such a favorable impres- 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 117 

sion upon the Americans, by his be¬ 
havior and honorable actions, that, not¬ 
withstanding his being a prisoner, his 
judges treated him with utmost respect 
and delicacy. 

“Andre gave a candid recital of the 
circumstances that occasioned his un¬ 
fortunate capture, withholding nothing 
that regarded his own self, but making 
no disclosures that might embarrass 
others. 

“The apprehension of Major Andre 
had caused a lively sensation in the 
British Army, for the young man was a 
favorite with all, so a flag of truce was 
used to carry correspondence from the 
British commander-in-chief to General 
Washington in order to plead for An¬ 
dre’s life. 

“But the young man had been found 
guilty of being a spy, and was con¬ 
demned as such. All appeals were in¬ 
effectual, and on October 2nd, Andre 
was condemned to die. On the day be¬ 
fore his execution Major Andre wrote a 
letter to Washington requesting that he 
be put to death like a soldier and not as 
a malefactor. But the board, to whom 


118 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

this request was referred, did not grant 
this wish. And so, he was hanged, even 
amidst the regrets and admiration of the 
American officers who had grown to 
like him. 

“The name of Andre lived to show 
what heights of courage and fidelity to 
a cause a man’s moral character can 
carry him, and this young British of¬ 
ficer’s name was esteemed by even his 
enemies and in spite of the degradation 
of his having been taken for a spy. He 
proved who and what he really was 
after his capture even though the term 
“spy” had to be taken to the gallows. 

“But the name of Arnold must go 
down in history as that of an infamous 
traitor who had not even the common 
decency to protect his messenger from 
capture when it was learned that the 
day was too far advanced for Andre to 
return to his vessel. And to send him 
off into a hotbed of scouts posted by 
himself, and then scurry away to safety 
himself, when his messenger was taken, 
shows up the weakness and dishonour 
lurking in the man.” 

Miss Amslie concluded her reading 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 119 

by saying: “I know we are all loyal citi¬ 
zens in this room, and everyone of you 
would fight for your country, and die 
for it, if necessary, just as Andre did. 
But no one would be an Arnold, would 
you?” 

A loud chorus of “No’s” greeted this 
question, and then the teacher dismissed 
the class. 

It happened that Mrs. Parke was 
using the automobile that afternoon, to 
do some shopping in the City, so the 
children had been asked to walk home 
when school was over. The four 
started off quite peaceably and orderly, 
but George was telling them what he 
would have done to that old Arnold, 
had he been there. 

The big boy who had chased the four 
bombardiers the day of the raid, had 
often thought he recognized Jim in the 
little chap who slid down from the ap- 
ole-tree, the last one in the get-aways. 
But not a word or sign had ever slipped 
out to assure this Bill Jenkins that he 
was right in his conjectures. Still he 
was always hoping to trip one or the 
other of the four up by a shrewd guess. 



120 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


He was walking behind the four chil¬ 
dren as they trudged homewards, and 
secretly trying to hear what they were 
talking about. He had about decided to 
turn off at the Bridge and go home, 
when he heard Martha say: 

“If Andre could have run like Jim 
did that day of the raid he would have 
reached the British before those scouts 
could catch him.” 

“And if he only had a horse like you 
rode that day when Slow-Coach ran 
back to his home, he could have had a 
fine career all through the Revolution,” 
added John. 

They all laughed, and Bill now was 
sure of these four who paid scant atten¬ 
tion to him—he the biggest boy in 
school. 

Having learned all he wished to 
know just then, he turned off to follow 
the Creek path to his home, but George 
happened to hear him cross the dry 
stubble and, turning quickly, wondered 
if he had overheard their remarks. 

“We don’t care if he did hear,” said 
Martha. 

“He’s only a bully, and the others in 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 121 


school all like us better than they do 
him,” added John. 

“But he has some of the big boys with 
him who like to tease and bully us little 
ones,” said George, thinking of Jim 
when he said “us little ones” for he 
would never have admitted that he was 
“little.” 

“Then we have got to show him he 
can’t bully us, by teaching him we have 
the strong arm,” said Martha, speaking 
of the four as a fighting body often 
called at home “the strong arm.” 

“He’s a spy, anyway, or he wouldn’t 
have been sneaking along behind us so 
quietly to hear what we said,” declared 
John. 

“That’s it! He’s a spy and we must 
punish him as one. We heard what 
Washington did to spies, and we are his 
soldiers,” said George. 

“Shall we go after him now, and ar¬ 
rest him?” eagerly asked John. 

“No, we must scout as the Americans 
did, and take him red-handed with all 
the papers in his boots,” said George. 

“When?” Martha wanted to know. 

“When he spies again. I must plan 


122 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


something to catch him. Then we will 
be the judges and mete out his punish¬ 
ment.” 

They soon reached home and found 
no one about to object to their playing 
that the Vulture was anchored in the 
brook and that Clinton was in Com¬ 
munication with Arnold at West Point. 
John’s side of the creek was West Point, 
the rock in the stream was the Vulture, 
and the Parke’s side of the brook was 
Verplanck’s Point where the cannon was 
mounted that kept shooting at the vessel. 

John was expected to reach the Vul¬ 
ture safely, but George and Martha 
stood on their side of the creek with 
great clods of earth and pelted him 
every time he tried to wade over to the 
rock. Jim was General Clinton, and 
was seated on the rock trying to help 
Arnold up when he should have reached 
that refuge. So Jim was the go-between 
of the American forces at Verplanck’s 
and Arnold’s few men at West Point. 
Consequently Jim caught most of the 
soft clods in his back. 

Finally, the horn sounded from 
John’s back porch, but he had not yet 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 123 

reached the Vulture in safety. He sud¬ 
denly felt determined therefore, to do 
this before he went in to wash and dress 
for supper, or die by the assault of mud. 

Martha had quite a store of earth 
cannon-balls piled up beside her, and 
she now whispered to George: “He’ll 
make a dash for it, ’cause he has to go 
home! You use these balls and don’t 
let him get aboard or he’ll sail to Eng¬ 
land and get away from us.” 

And so it proved. Arnold frantically 
tried to reach the Vulture when he heard 
the third call from the horn, and having 
all but reached the rock, caught hold of 
Jim’s out-stretched hands to help him 
up. Once he was up, the canonading 
from the American army must cease—- 
that was the rule of the game. 

But a great clod of soft dirt fell right 
on Jim’s face, blinding him and causing 
him to cough and sputter. He let go 
of John’s hands and poor Arnold fell 
back into the creek. It was only deep 
enough to completely soak him, and 
with a wild yell of victory, Martha and 
George pelted continuously until John 
was completely disgraced. Jim, too, 


124 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

had suffered from so many mud-balls 
that there was hardly an inch of his 
clothing that was not caked. To follow 
up the great surrender of this notorious 
traitor, Arnold, George and Martha 
considered it a little thing to wade into 
the creek to actually capture him. But 
John climbed out quickly on his side 
and managed to get away. 

The two triumphant ones then of¬ 
fered to escort Jim safely away from 
the American shores; by this Jim was 
supposed to go to the stables and wash 
every tell-tale bit of dirt from his cloth¬ 
ing and head. But he shook his head 
at that. 

“Ah don’ want’a wash in dat cold 
pump-water. An’ Ah don’ want’a go in 
and’ let Mammy see me!” 

“Well, what can you do, then?” 
asked Martha. 

“Ah’ll wash heah in de crick,” Jim 
suggested, eying the stream. 

“I’ll help him, Marth, and you go 
home and get the towel,” said George, 
for he understood why Jim had no de¬ 
sire to go near the barn. His uncle 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 125 

and grandfather would surely be there 
about this hour. 

So all signs of the battle of Ver- 
planck’s Point were washed from Jim, 
and George escorted him to the area 
steps in honor and a sense of having 
accomplished much good that after¬ 
noon. 

When school was out the following 
day, George asked Bill Jenkins to join 
them on the walk to the Bridge. Bill 
was surprised, for he had never been in¬ 
cluded in this little quartette before. 
Had he known that he was to play the 
part of Major Andre, what would he 
have done? 

They reached the Bridge without any 
hint of a spy being in their midst, but 
once the school was out of sight, George 
said: 

“We are going to play a Washington 
game—want to play with us, Bill?” 

“All right,” returned Bill. 

“Well, you be Andre and we’ll be the 
scouts who catch you. Then I’ll be 
Jamieson who tries and condemns you 
to die,” explained George, while the 
others surrounded the Britisli^soldier. 


126 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


“I don’t want’a be Andre!” declared 
Bill, suspecting a plot. 

“But you have to be. We are all 
Americans, you see,” said George. 

“I never said I would play such a 
crazy game,” added Bill. 

“You said you would, and now you 
have to play it out,” retorted George. 

Bill then grew belligerent and dou¬ 
bled up his fists. He sneered at the 
others and said: “Huh! I’ll knock 
down the first one that comes near my 
fist!” ■ ATp; 

But George had trained his army 
well, for when he gave the signal, all 
four fell upon the spy and he thrust out 
his big fist in vain; it fell here and 
there upon an unprotected back or 
shoulder, but that only made the Amer¬ 
ican forces more determined to take 
Andre to the judge, a bound prisoner. 

Bill was soon overpowered, for he 
had no weak antagonist as he had 
thought, and now George produced a 
length of rope with which he bound the 
prisoner securely. They then marched 
him off, singing the song of victory as 
they marched. 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 127 

“Where shall we hold the trial?” 
asked John. 

“In our vessel, the Vulture,” suggest¬ 
ed Jim. 

“Oh, no! Not in a British boat. We 
will condemn him to die without going 
to any place. When we get to that old 
apple-tree near the Corner Posts, we 
will try him,” said Martha. 

“Yes, that is an easy tree to climb and 
hoist him,” added George. 

“Is the rope strong enough?” ques¬ 
tioned John. 

“Sure! It’ll hang a man, and Bill 
isn’t that yet.” 

“Say! You ain’t going to really hang 
me, are you?” cried Bill now, in abject 
fear. 

“Sure we are! Didn’t the Americans 
hang Andre? You are a spy—we saw 
you skulking behind us every time you 
got a chance. And you tried to hear 
us say things, so we just fooled you one 
afternoon by letting you think you over¬ 
heard what we said. Then you had to 
run and tell it to your other bully- 
friends. So now we are going to hang 
you for being a spy.” George ren- 


128 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 


dered this verdict in all earnestness and 
the bully believed his doom was sealed. 
He began to cry and beg off, but the 
rope remained taut and he had to go on 
or have his head badly pulled. 

When they came to the gnarled apple- 
tree with such fine stout limbs for climb¬ 
ing upon and hanging things there¬ 
from, John quickly scrambled up, show¬ 
ing he was accustomed to doing it. 

“Now find a spot where the rope will 
dangle free,” said George. 

Bill again cried and fell upon his 
knees begging for his life, when the 
Parke automobile sped up. Bill was 
kneeling in the road so Pete had to stop 
the machine. 

“Now what yoh-all up ter?” de¬ 
manded he, gazing wildly at the rope 
tied about the bully’s neck, and John sit¬ 
ting astride a bough in the tree. 

“Going to hang the British Spy,” said 
George, frankly. 

Pete sprang out of the car, and 
caught hold of the noose-end of the 
rope. “Hang nuttin ef Ah knows hit!” 
he shouted. 

“That’s just it. We’re going to hang 


WASHINGTON’S EXPERIENCES 129 

nothin’—Bill is a bully, and they aren’t 
anything, you know,” laughed Martha. 

Pete soon had the completely sub¬ 
jugated Bill free and then he said: “Go 
home an’ don’ play games wid dese 
Washertons agin. Kase dey are shore 
to bust yer haid open ef yoh ever does 
ennyting what displeases dem.” 

Bill took to his heels and never 
stopped running until he had jumped 
the Creek, and Pete turned to the Amer¬ 
ican Army. 

“Now tell de truf! What does yoh 
mean by dis foolin’?” 

“Well, we’ll tell you, Pete, seein’ how 
you are all right! That Bill is an awful 
bully at school, and he tried to make 
some other big boys play tricks on Jim, 
’cause he said Jim was the boy what 
fired the bombs in the school that day. 
So we knew the time had come, Pete, 
when we must fight and get him or he 
would get us. So we got him, see?” ex¬ 
plained George. 

“And, Pete, he cried like a baby— 
oh, you should have heard him promise 
us everything he had to let him go 
home,” added John. 



130 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“But, Pete, he won’t try his game on 
us again! He’s ’fraid of us, now!” 
laughed Martha. 

And Jim added with a giggle: “We- 
all was onny playin’ we’d hang him fer 
a spy—but he diden know we-all was 
playin’!” 


CHAPTER NINE 


ANOTHER CHAPTER FROM WASHINGTON’S 

LIFE 

The following week, Miss Amslie 
read again from the book that proved 
so inspiring to the four members of the 
Army. This time it was all about the 
closing incidents of the war, and proved 
very interesting. 

“ ‘It was learned that Cornwallis 
feared the necessity of a surrender and 
so had made a bold attempt to escape 
with part of his army, into the coun¬ 
try, leaving the sick and all baggage be¬ 
hind. If he succeeded in crossing to 
Gloucester, he would destroy the 
French Legion and other troops, and 
then mount his infantry on their horses 
to enable him to push on his way to 
New York. 

“ ‘Boats were secretly prepared, ar¬ 
rangements made, and a large propor¬ 
tion of the troops were already em- 


132 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

barked, and some were landed on 
Gloucester Point, when a most violent 
storm of wind and rain blew up. The 
boats with the crews of troops were 
driven down the river, and it was not 
till the next day that these troops could 
return to the garrison at York. 

“ ‘General Washington now sent 
terms of capitulation to Cornwallis, al¬ 
lowing him two hours to comply. There 
being no other alternative, Cornwallis 
had to consent to arbitrate. But he tried 
hard to obtain all favorable concessions. 
He asked that his troops might return 
home to England, but it was refused. 
Then, too, he was anxious to secure from 
punishment any American who had 
turned to or served under the royal ban¬ 
ner of England. But this, too, was re¬ 
fused. 

“ ‘But the officers and soldiers were 
allowed to retain their private property, 
and such officers as were not required 
to remain with the troops were permit¬ 
ted to return to Europe, or reside in any 
part of America not in possession of 
British troops. 

“ ‘The capture of Cornwallis and his 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 


03 


army raised a shout of joy and tri¬ 
umph throughout America, and Gen¬ 
eral Washington felt the importance of 
the conquest he had achieved. He 
thanked his troops for their bravery and 
great sacrifice of all things. 

“ ‘The capture of Cornwallis was the 
decisive event of the war, and there¬ 
after the engagements became desultory 
and devoid of spirit. They actually 
were of little public benefit or loss. But 
the surrender of the British general pro¬ 
duced a great change in America, and 
gave a more cheering aspect to the af¬ 
fairs of the Union. A new impulse was 
given to the public mind, and the ray 
of peace seemed now to burst through 
the gloom of battle and promise plenty 
for the future. 

“ ‘So in England when Parliament 
met and debated on ending or continu¬ 
ing the war in America, it was voted to 
end the strife. But there were many un¬ 
happy and annoying incidents con¬ 
tinued for a time after it became known 
that the strife was at an end, and these 
wretched deeds kept Washington wor- 



134 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

ried and occupied in seeing that justice 
was done to all concerned.” 

“So, now, children, this will end the 
reading of the fight for American Free¬ 
dom, but I propose reading each day 
from the private life of Washington as 
a farmer, also of his life as President 
of this Country. The classes are dis¬ 
missed for the day.” 

No sooner were the four playmates 
on the way home, than George ex¬ 
claimed: “My, but we’ll have fun 
playing Cornwallis, won’t we?” 

“On our crick to home?” asked Jim, 
eagerly. 

“No, that is too small to have some 
kinds of boats on it. You see, we have 
to let the storm drive us away from 
Gloucester, where we want to land. 
Now I was thinking of using the big 
Creek down by the Bridge.” 

“But we haven’t any boats, George,” 
demurred John. 

“Build some, then. Cornwallis didn’t 
have any either when he started out, 
but he managed to get some; that is 
what we must do.” 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 135 

“Not real boats, George!” exclaimed 
Martha. 

“I don’t know what they’ll be, but 
they’ll ride the water. I’m going to 
think it all out and we’ll play it on 
Saturday when there aren’t any children 
around the school to bother us.” 

“Then we can play the school is New 
York, where we are going to march to 
when we land,” suggested John. 

“Well, Cornwallis never needed New 
York, and so won’t we, if we play we’re 
his army. But we can make believe 
that it is there, if you want to.” 

Friday afternoon passed and still 
George gave no sign of having found 
the boats, or of thinking of a substitute 
for them. John hinted several times, 
that he would be relieved to know what 
Cornwallis planned to do the following 
day, but the General seemed greatly 
bothered and paid no attention to his 
army. 

Saturday morning the four met at the 
Corner Post as had been agreed upon, 
and still no word of boats, nor sign of 
anything other than George having a 
hammer and a box of nails. 


136 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“Well, Cornwallis is ready—are 
you?” asked he. 

At that, the three faces smiled and 
John heaved a sigh, for he had feared 
lest their fun be ruined by the lack of 
boats. 

“Ah brung some dinneh,” ventured 
Jim, producing a paper bag of odds and 
ends. 

“Good! The army must eat if it has 
to fight,” said George. 

“And I filled my pockets with ginger- 
snaps,” added Martha, displaying the 
bulging pockets which were pinned at 
the top with huge safety-pins. 

"I didn't know you’d bring anything, 
so I took all the apples I could carry,” 
now said John, patting the front of his 
blouse which was certainly protruding 
like a fat man’s front. 

“Better and better! We won’t have 
to reach New York to get food, then,” 
laughed George. 

The four members of Cornwallis’s 
army trudged along the road, planning 
eagerly how they would sail to Glouces¬ 
ter, but soon George said: 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 


i37 


“Somehow I feel hungry. Suppose 
we have some ginger-snaps.” 

“I was thinking they looked mighty 
good!” added John. 

“One a-piece around—no more!” de¬ 
clared Martha, unpinning a pocket and 
carefully removing four snaps. 

When the last crumb was gone, Jim 
smacked his lips. 

“Um-m! Hit taks mah mammy to 
bake ginger-snaps!” 

The others laughed, and John added: 
“Just for that, we ought to have an¬ 
other one to see if Jim is right.” 

Martha frowned but there were three 
votes to one, so she had to consent to 
giving out another snap to each one. 

“Now, not another one, even if you 
cry for it!” said she. 

Finally they reached the Bridge, but 
no boats or material were in sight 
George smiled knowingly, however, 
and continued his walk across the 
Bridge. 

The others followed, and George kept 
on until he reached the schoolhouse. 

“You said we wouldn’t need the 



138 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

school, and here you are the very first 
thing!” exclaimed Martha. 

“When I said that, I didn’t know that 
boats were so scarce. Now we have to 
get them from New York, if we want 
to fight to-day.” 

Still he had not explained where he 
would be able to secure boats, so the 
three members of the common army fol¬ 
lowed the general to the wood-shed. 

“See this shed-door? Well, there is 
only one hinge left and that I can remove 
very easily. Then Jim and John will 
carry it to the Creek for one boat. I 
found several nice boards up on the 
beams, and I’m going to nail them to¬ 
gether for the other boat. Martha, you 
can help me pull the boards down,” ex¬ 
plained George. 

The boys worked at the single hinge 
until the screws were pulled from the 
old wooden frame of the door, and then 
they had a boat. If one could close 
the seeing-eyes and try to see a boat with 
the mind’s eye, one could have a won¬ 
derful steamer, or any sort of vessel 
needed for this enterprise. That is what 
Cornwallis’s army did in this instance. 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 


i39 

John and Jim never thought of ob¬ 
jecting to doing the heaviest work while 
George remained at the shed to nail 
some boards into a raft. But, you see, 
Cornwallis was a general while his 
army had to obey and do the hard work. 

There was many a sigh and rest be¬ 
fore John and Jim had finished the work 
of carrying the boat to the Creek, but 
when they finally returned to the wood¬ 
shed, they were delighted to find that 
George, with Martha’s help, had nailed 
three boards together and had produced 
another fine vessel. One could see the 
Union Jack flying from the mast-heads 
if one had any kind of an imagination. 

This second boat was also carried to 
the stream by John and Jim, while 
George dragged an extra board and 
Martha carried several short lengths of 
timber, in case the vessel needed repairs. 
George did not explain to his admiring 
army that the nails he had were only a 
half-inch longer than the thickness of 
the planks, so the cross-boards were not 
as securely nailed in as might be ex¬ 
pected from the looks of the construc¬ 
tion. 


140 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

The two vessels were launched amidst 
the hurrahs of the English Army, and 
then George said: “As General, I must 
board the flag-ship, you know. I am 
going to tie my red scarf on a stick and 
fasten the stick in the key-hole of the 
wood-shed door.” 

This was done even as he explained, 
and then the General climbed over on 
the old door. He looked about for part 
of the army to follow him on board, but 
it was unwise to choose. So he said: 

“You three will have to draw lots 
to see who comes on with me.” 

Three blades of grass were the lots 
that would determine the fate of such an 
important matter. Martha drew the 
longest blade and was the favored one. 

Then John and Jim managed to bal¬ 
ance themselves while they got on the 
three-board-boat, and George gave the 
signal to start for Gloucester. 

He managed to pole off from the 
bank without any difficulty for the shed- 
door was heavy and well-cross-planked. 
Also it was wide enough to float smooth¬ 
ly. But the three-plank-boat George 
had built for Jim and John was con- 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 141 

structed of different thicknesses of 
wood, and the weight was unevenly 
balanced. Consequently the raft would 
not float as it should. 

There was quite a strong current 
flowing under the Bridge, and once 
George poled out into it, his shed-door 
was drawn along until it travelled won¬ 
derfully without poling or work from 
the General. 

“Hey there! See how we are sailing! 
I tell you what, we can play the storm 
caught us right off. Maybe we will 
land on the Long Island shore, who 
knows?” 

“Gee! I wish this old sail-boat would 
go like yours!” grumbled John, driv¬ 
ing his pole hard against a rock on the 
shore. 

Now it happened that Jim also 
pushed hard against the bank at the 
same time, and the two boys standing 
on the middle plank, which was the 
thickest of the three, failed to note how 
the under-pieces were coming loose. As 
they pushed together against the inflow¬ 
ing current from the middle of the 
stream, the board nearest the shore came 


i 4 2 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

loose completely and floated away on 
the face of the water. 

“Oh! Our ship’s sinking!” cried 
John, frantically. 

“Jarge! Jarge—Ah means General 
Cohnwalls! Help save us!” shrieked 
Jim, forgetting to pole and thus per¬ 
mitting the two-plank-boat to swing 
around and hit the shore with a hard 
bump. 

Before George could carefully turn 
about to see what the trouble could be 
with his other vessel, Jim had been 
thrown over and was half in the water 
and half on the board. 

John knew he must save his crew, so 
he dropped his pole and laid flat out 
to pull Jim on board again. But the 
extra weight on the heavy plank caused 
it to tilt and roll both boys in the Creek. 

George and Martha saw the accident 
but their shed-door vessel was sailing so 
swiftly on the current of the Creek that 
they could not stop, nor could they even 
guide it. It went as it was enticed by 
the current. 

“Try to wade out and we’ll run in 


WASHINGTON’S LIFE 


143 

down on the sand-banks and come back 
to help!” shouted George. 

John could swim a little, but Jim was 
afraid to try, so he was helpless. 

“Can’t you touch bottom with your 
feet?” asked John, who was splashing 
about wildly, thinking he was swim¬ 
ming. 

“Ah’se got mah feets on a big flat 
stone, but Ah ain’t goin’ to step off to 
try and see ef Ah kin tech bottom!” de¬ 
clared Jim, with a touch of independ¬ 
ence most unusual for him. 

“No, no—don’t try! Just stand as 
still as you can on that rock while I 
swim out and help you with a pole,” ad¬ 
vised John. 

But John floundered and floundered 
about without finding himself much 
nearer the bank. He had managed to 
keep his head above water, and that was 
about all. 


CHAPTER TEN 


THE RESCUE 

“Ah says it’s mighty cold standin’ in 
this water lak dis, John,” whimpered 
Jim, after several minutes of patient 
waiting for his friend to swim ashore 
and help him out. 

“Just a minute more—I’ll get there!” 
gasped John, breathlessly, as he tried to 
get a hold on an over-hanging bush. 

Perhaps he would have actually 
landed himself, but it would have taken 
more than a minute. However, he was 
not put to the test, as Pete drove up just 
then, having gone to the station to meet 
some week-end visitors for Mrs. Parke. 
They had not come on that train and 
Pete was leisurely driving back. 

He heard the shouting from the 
Creek and wondered what could have 
happened. As he drove the car out 
from the screen of trees and bushes that 
grew along the roadside near the 

m 


THE RESCUE 


145 

Bridge, he saw the two boys in the wa¬ 
ter. Not stopping to question how they 
got there, he jumped from the car, and 
in a few great leaps was clutching 
John’s wet hands. 

It took but a moment to land John, 
and then he turned to rescue Jim. But 
his nephew was too far out on the stone 
to reach from the shore, so Pete en¬ 
couraged him by saying: 

“Now in just a minute Pete’s shoes’ll 
be off an’ his coat and trousers!” 

As he spoke Pete hastily unlaced his 
chauffeur’s leggings and boots and 
threw off his coat. He did not stop to 
remove any other clothing because Jim 
cried pitifully: 

“O-oo! Ah’se shibberin’ lak de 
ague!” 

Pete jumped in and in a jiffy had lit¬ 
tle Jim up and out. Then he began 
scolding like a young uncle can. 

“Whaffoh yoh git in dat scrape? 
Don’ you know no better’n t’ leave 
home to play down in dis crick! Dis 
crick runs fas’er an’ fas’er till it gits to 
de saw-mill, an’ den it tumbles down 


146 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL' 

unner dat wheel, where yoh-all would 
git crushed like flour!” 

“Oh, Pete! Then Martha and George 
will come out of that mill all in little 
powder-buts, won’t they?” howled John 
fearfully. 

“Jarge and Marta? Whey am dey?” 
cried Pete, aghast. 

“Their boat sailed out to the middle 
and away they went. If they couldn’t 
land on the sand-flats they are going 
over the falls by this time!” John had 
a vivid imagination, you see. 

Pete groaned but hurriedly threw on 
his coat. Turning to the other two, he 
commanded sternly: “Yoh two start 
and run home just as fas’ as yoh kin. 
Run as fas’, Ah say, as yoh kin so as 
to warm up yohr blood to keep from 
ketchin’ cold. Ah’m goin’ to drive lak 
mad to ketch dem bad chilluns from 
goin’ over on dat wheel.” 

The shoes were flung in the car and 
Pete went in after them. Then he 
rushed off with a roar, and a cloud of 
gasoline-smoke. The two soaked and 
shivering remnants of Cornwallis’s 
army began to run for home as they 


THE RESCUE 


i47 


had been told to do, and soon reached 
John’s house where he advised Jim to 
stop and dry himself. 

Jim knew what awaited him if his 
mammy saw him in such a state, so he 
meekly followed John’s suggestion and 
the two stole up the back-stairs to find 
Amanda, who would help them without 
telling anyone on them. 

George and Martha thoroughly en¬ 
joyed the lively trip on the current of 
the Creek, but they had never heard of 
the grist-mill, which, to tell the truth, 
was several miles from the Bridge. 

Martha felt a deep concern about the 
fate of the other half of the army, but 
George encouraged her by saying: 

“Oh, they’ll manage to get out, don’t 
worry!’’ 

“We’re almost at the sand-flats,” said 
Martha, after another short silence. 

“I’d like to sail on as this is fine!” 
suggested George. 

“No, you won’t! We said we’d jump 
off and run back to save them, and so 
we will.” 

“Do you want to go alone?” ventured 
George. 


1+8 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

“Cornwallis, you aren’t going to get 
out of helping save your army just be¬ 
cause you want to enjoy this trip? This 
isn’t a pleasure trip, anyway—you for¬ 
get yourself! This is a sad business of 
trying to reach Gloucester.” 

Martha used the strongest argument 
she could—without being aware of it— 
by appealing to the General in George. 
So he got upon his knees to watch for 
the flats which were shallow places on 
one side of the stream. 

“There they are—down on the right- 
hand side. Now you try to jump when 
we get near, and I will drive the pole 
into the sand to hold the ship.” 

George managed to get upon his feet 
and held the pole ready to drive down 
as they neared the sand-flats. They were 
just grazing the upper edge of the first 
little mound of sand when Martha 
jumped clear and landed upon dry sand. 
But the impetus given the raft as she 
jumped sent it out into midstream again. 

Before George could drive the pole 
in to anchor the raft, he was being car¬ 
ried along again on the swift current. 


THE RESCUE 


149 


“Jump, George, and swim to shore!” 
shouted Martha. 

“No, you go back and help the others 
while I try to land down by the back- 
road,” called George. 

He was soon out of sight around a 
bend in the stream, so Martha had to 
walk back alone to help her confeder¬ 
ates. The bushes and briars were brit¬ 
tle and would get caught in her skirt 
and stockings, so she presented a ragged 
appearance when she finally emerged 
on the road. But there was no sign of 
John or Jim at the Bridge when she got 
there. 

She examined the ground for possible 
tracks, and found a pair of large-sized 
socks on the bank. She was sure they 
were not Jim’s or John’s! Then she 
found great spotches of mud where feet 
had stamped water into the soil, and 
these tracks led up to the Bridge. Here 
she found automobile tire-tracks, and a 
trail made by four feet crossing the 
Bridge. These she was sure belonged 
to John and Jim, so she followed them 
home. 

George felt no fear, for he had no 


1 5 o WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

knowledge of a grist-mill being several 

miles farther down the Creek, but when 

he got near the cross-road that ran at 

the rear of his home-estate, he managed 

to coax the raft over to the shore, and as 

his vessel gradually floated out of the 

power of the current, he soon had it 

safelv driven into the soft bank. 

* 

He climbed up the steep bank and 
gained the old wooden bridge that 
spanned the stream, just as Pete drove 
madly up on his way to rescue Martha 
and George from the mill-wheel. 

“Hello, Pete! Where you speeding 
to?” called George. 

Pete glared at him but did not reply. 
He threw open the door and motioned 
George to get in. Then he managed to 
ask. * 

“Where’s Martha?” 

“Home, I reckon, by this time.” 

Pete then drove home but not a word 
was exchanged between the two. Pete 
stopped the car at the garage and merely 
motioned George to walk to the house. 

There the General found the Martha 
side of his army waiting anxiously for 


THE RESCUE 


15 1 

news from him, but Jim and John were 
not to be seen. 

“I bet they are over at John’s,” said 
George. 

And there they found the two that 
made up the other half of the British 
Army, enjoying a huge slice of ginger¬ 
bread. 

“I’m never going to play British 
again!” declared John. 

“Why?” asked George. 

“ ’Cause something always happens 
when we are British. Washington’s 
Army is good enough for me!” 

“Well, you know what Teacher 
said in school yesterday—Washing¬ 
ton’s fighting days were over and she 
was going to read how he lived on a 
farm. Then she was going to read 
about his life as President,” said 
Martha. 

“I think we will have heaps of fun 
playing farmer,” said George. 

“And it won’t be half so dangerous,” 
added John, thinking of his recent 
swimming test. 

“Oh, we’ll find plenty of exciting 


152 WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL 

things to play. I can think of several 
right now,” replied George. 

“Don’t try to remember any now, 
George, ’cause I want Amanda to get 
us some ginger-bread,” whispered 
Martha. 

That silenced George, and soon all 
four were munching extra slices of hot 
ginger-bread. 

When the long idle days of the sum¬ 
mer vacation came, there were more 
plays from the life of Washington. 
Martha asserted her rights, George kept 
his promise, and they all discovered new 
thrills. How this was accomplished is 
told in “The Little Washingtons’ Holi¬ 
days.” 


THE END 



















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